Fission

A Quantum Leap fan novel
by Ashe P. Kirk

Based loosely on the Quantum Leap novel:
Double or Nothing by C.J. Henderson

When Sam leaps into a set of twins, one bearing down on a conscription into the Vietnam war and the other living in a hippie commune, he finds that, split in twain, his two halves are at odds just as much as the twin brothers.

This is an exploration of how I think the Quantum Leap novel Double or Nothing could have gone if it was a little different. I don’t presume to be a better writer than the writers of the book (far from it), but this is merely how I interpret the premise of Sam splitting into two aspects of himself, and leaping into twins. It takes some of the ideas of the book, and puts it into a new situation and plotline. So it’s not a rehash of the book so much as a reimagining.

Also available to read on Archive of Our Own

Table of Contents

Cover

Blurb

1. Double the Fun

2. Electron

3. Out of Order

4. Space Cadet

5. High On Life

6. Positron

7. Oh, Brother

8. Ideas, Man

9. Fusion

10. Suggestion Box

11. Unconvinced

12. On The Road

13. On The Run

14. Polarity

15. Mister Perfect

16. Tipping the Scales

17. Shell Game

18. Diplomacy

19. Soft Touch

20. Junk in the Trunk

21. Heading Back

22. Motivations

23. Broken Glass

24. Works In Progress

25. Dark Night of a Portion of the Soul

26. Reckless Abandon

27. Victory of the Narcs

28. Hog Wild

29. Head Trip

30. Rehash

31. Road to Recovery

32. Uncomfortably Numb

33. Peace and Love and Curses

34. Persuasion

35. Pursuit

36. Damage Control

37. Self Harm

38. Understanding

39. Doctors and Nurses

40. Husbands and Wives

41. Support Network

42. God, The Flow, or Whatever

43. Neutron

44. Return of the Star Child

45. Reading, Writing, and Recidivism

46. Everywhere There's Lots of Piggies

Chapter 1

Double the Fun

Quantum Leaping through time has its highs and lows. I like to think of myself as the kind of guy who rolls with the punches for the most part, but once in a while I admittedly get a little fed up with looking in the mirror and seeing the wrong face; being unable to live my own life.

And you know, sometimes leaping really shows me the worst in people. Whether it be cold-blooded murderers or just your run-of-the-mill bullies taking advantage of those weaker, seeing the terrible things people are capable of can really get me down.

But then, I also see the best in humanity, too. People coming together as a family or community. Following their dreams, sharing their love with one another, supporting each other through tough times. Seeing people’s smiles when they make it out of their hardship is the part that makes this job worth doing.

In quantum mechanics, something can exist in multiple states simultaneously. It’s called the Superposition principle.

Schrödinger illustrated this most famously in his thought experiment with the cat. There’s a box containing a cat and a deadly poison, and a trigger based on a Geiger counter connected to a minute source of radioactivity. If the Geiger counter detects a randomly decaying atom, it releases the poison. The cat, therefore, is both alive and dead simultaneously, until we open the box and observe. I assume we can’t hear the cat yowling for help in this experiment, or scratching at the lid in desperation. That would count as observation.

For the record, I’d like to believe the cat lived to have its revenge on whoever thought it was a good idea to engage in that kind of cruelty.

But why do I bring this up?

Well, this is all to say that being in two simultaneous states is entirely possible, and when the metaphorical planets align, a quantum leap can do some unexpected things.

This is the story of a leap that went ‘a little caca.’

*        *        *

Sam Beckett had found himself in a variety of predicaments over his years leaping. God or time or fate was kind of a jester that way; leaping in to some terribly awkward situations at times.

This time, his eyes were closed, and the first thing he experienced was a wave of guitar music coming from a record player. It was a strange psychedelic rendition of ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ that intermingled with ‘The Sorcerer’s Apprentice’. The environment smelled distinctly of tobacco and marijuana, with a hint of Patchouli incense.

Sam dared peek one of his eyes open, and found he was sitting cross-legged in a large tepee, furnished with rainbow tie-dyed fabrics both covering the hard, dusty ground and hanging like flags from the wooden bones of the structure. His clothes were loose brown cotton pants and an open vest on top, with several long beaded necklaces hanging over his chest hair.

I’m a hippie? Well, that was a new one, certainly, but there was no imminent danger here, was there? He seemed to be in a pretty laid back environment, even if there were probably drugs galore. Better than being strapped into an electric chair, or in the middle of a wedding ceremony as the priest.

It wasn’t until he had this thought that he realised there were five pairs of eyes staring directly at him, with matching expressions of open-mouthed bewilderment.

Why are they looking at me like that?

“Uh… is there something on my face?” he asked self-consciously, drawing a hand to his cheek. It was at this point he discovered the flower perched behind his ear.

Yep, definitely a hippie.

On the record player, a third musical piece joined in; something from ‘The Nutcracker’, if Sam remembered correctly. What was this album?

“Far out…” said a woman with a plaited band crossing over her forehead, and some daisies tucked into it at the sides. She glanced around at the others in the tepee. “Did everybody see that?”

The woman reached a hand out, hovering it just over Sam’s leg, as if she was feeling for something.

“You mean that trippy blue light?” said a man next to her, bare-chested and thin, his face bursting with a curly brown beard.

“I saw it too, man,” came a third voice.

“Whoa, then it can’t have been just the acid if we all saw it,” said another.

Sam swallowed. Surely they hadn’t… witnessed his arrival, right? Nobody had ever done that before.

The first woman approached Sam, studying his eyes for a moment before gasping and pointing.

“No way…” she turned back to the others. “His eyes totally changed colour! He had blue eyes before but they’re kind of hazel now. I swear!”

The tepee filled with astonished noises.

“He’s channelling an Ascended Master,” suggested an older man towards the back. “One of the Atlanteans from ancient times. He’s come to show us the way to humanity’s next paradigm!”

“Nah, man, that’s old hat Theosophy,” the bare-chested man said. “Get with the program! I think he’s a visitor from outer space. Richie’s been taken over by a star child walk-in!”

The woman with the headband turned back to Sam. “Hey, Richie… are you a star child, or an Ascended Master from Atlantis, man?” she asked.

“Oh boy,” said Sam, as the record ended with a crackle.

*        *        *

Somewhere else in America, at the same time, another Sam leaped into another life—though neither knew about the other.

Sam blinked as the environment appeared around him—dark and dingey, crowded and smoky. As he collected his bearings, he just had enough wherewithal to dodge a fist that was being flung towards his jaw.

“Whoa! Wait a second!” he cried, putting his hands up defensively as the stumbling drunk man, who looked middle aged, crashed into the wall behind him, his dirt-stained mechanic’s jumpsuit twisting as he spun back around against the floor.

“Aww kid, you’re quicker’n I thought!” the man said, doubling over with laughter. “Guess you might make it through trainin’ after all.” He climbed unsteadily to his feet, and patted the confused Sam hard on the back, before continuing on to the bar beyond. “Lemme buy you another beer.”

“Ha, nice job Bobby,” said a man with a grease smudge on his face, playfully punching Sam on the shoulder. “I told Harvey he’s too drunk to get a good swing in. Don’t worry about him. He thinks he can take anyone one ’cause he saw action in Korea, but after all the drinkin’ since then I’m surprised he remembers how to tie his laces.”

“Oh, uh, yeah…” Sam said, trying to drink in his surroundings as he handled the conversation. Through the chatter of the bar, he could hear the distinct sound of ‘Spirit In The Sky’ playing on the jukebox. “Lucky for me, I guess.”

Yeah, that’s one way to put it, he thought bitterly. I could have leaped in at any other moment, and had a little more time to prepare for a fist flying towards me. But no, of course not.

As per usual, Sam was fate’s whipping boy. And now he had to figure out just what was going on here. Was he to expect more attempted assault, or maybe some other incredibly awkward situation?

“Uh oh, Bobby,” came another man’s voice. “Look.” Sam turned to see a man with stubble grinning and pointing towards the bar’s entrance, where a woman Sam guessed to be mid-twenties was standing, studying the crowds. Her black hair was tied back with a scarf, and she wore a skirt and boots that both met at the knee.

“What?” Sam asked, though he had a feeling his anticipated awkward situation was now fast approaching.

“You did tell her you were coming out tonight, didn’t ya?” asked the man with the smudge.

“Who?” Sam tried, acting dumb to get someone to spit out a name.

“Brenda!” said the stubble-faced man, redoubling his gesture to the door.

“Uh…” Sam said, “…I might have neglected to.”

Or maybe not. I have no idea.

The woman, evidently named Brenda, finally caught sight of Sam, and approached him, hands on hips.

“Your dinner’s cold, Bobby,” she said. This elicited an invested “ooh!” from the men around Sam.

It was at this inopportune moment that the man who’d thrown the punch—Harvey—handed a glass of beer to him, and Sam took it with a sheepish look to his apparent—what? Girlfriend? Wife?

He noted the ring on his finger, and assumed the latter.

“Uh… I can explain…” Sam muttered.

But he couldn’t really, could he? All he really knew was that he seemed to be called Bobby. Typical.

“It’s our fault, Brenda,” said the smudge-faced man. “Since it was Bobby’s last day down at the garage, we wanted to give him a send-off to remember.”

“Or forget—right, Harvey?” the stubble-faced man added, pushing the shoulder of the drunken man who’d tried to punch Sam, sending him stumbling to the left dramatically. The other men around Sam laughed at this.

Brenda eyed the men, then settled her gaze on Sam. “Well, you could have called,” she said with a frown. “But…” she threw her arms around him and planted a long kiss on his lips as he stood stiffly. “I guess you deserve a few nice memories before you leave.”

Sam pulled away from Brenda’s arms. “Leave?”

He eyed the men around him—coworkers, he supposed. Harvey was now looking at him with a quivering lip and one eye drooping.

“Aww Bobby!” the man cried, dragging Sam roughly into a hug and crying dramatically into his shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you, kid! You give Charlie what-for, you hear me?”

Charlie… That’s when the pieces clicked together. Whoever Bobby was, he was going to Vietnam, wasn’t he?

“Oh god, not again,” he mumbled, staring into his beer.

Chapter 2

Electron

Al Calavicci strolled out of the elevator, yawning. It was another early start; Ziggy had paged him while he was fast asleep, having a saucy dream about identical twins with matching birth marks on the small of their backs. Ziggy’s voice had leaked through to the dream, and when one of the beautiful ladies came out with her cold, detached voice, he’d been real confused in the moments before he regained consciousness.

Now, he shuffled in to the Control Room, rubbing his eyes and sipping a mug of instant coffee that tasted like mud.

“Alright folks, what’s the news?” he asked, seeing Doctor Verbena Beeks carrying a chart out of the Waiting Room. Gooshie and Donna were at the main console, conferring over something on a screen. It hadn’t looked like Gooshie had slept at all in the last night; his curly hair was wilder than usual, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Well, we have a guy in the Waiting Room,” Verbena said, “but he isn’t feeling so good. I got a name and date out of him—Bobby Deleon, May fifteenth, 1970—but he’s got a bad headache right now. I also had to clean up some vomit. Safe to say we’re going to need to keep an eye on him, and I wouldn’t hammer him for information right now.”

Al nodded, running a hand over his chin. “That’s too bad. Has Ziggy got a lock on Sam?”

“Yes,” Gooshie chimed in, “but it’s unusually weak.”

“Weak?” Al frowned. “Why?”

“We don’t know, but you might have some signal issues. We’re diverting extra power to the Imaging Chamber.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Al muttered, before peering upward at the shimmering blue orb that was Ziggy’s consciousness. “Hey, Ziggy! This guy Bobby—what’s his story?”

“Good morning Admiral,” Ziggy said in her haughty way as Al sipped at his caffeinated mud. “Robert Deleon resided in San Diego, California until May of 1970. Due to the draft lottery drawing his birth date, he had been awaiting assignment after several months of training. He was shipped to Vietnam on the twentieth of May, and killed in an ambush three days after arrival.”

Al nearly spat out his coffee. “Oh boy.” He shook his head, sighing. “Sam’s not gonna be happy to hear that.” He turned his gaze to Donna, who was still busily tapping at a keyboard. “You okay?”

“Who, me?” she asked, looking up from the screen, her face betraying deep concern. “Sure. It’s not his first time in Vietnam. And he’ll know the ambush is coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Al said, “I guess so.” He looked back to Ziggy. “Is that what he’s there for? To avoid gettin’ killed?”

“That is my most likely probability, at eighty-two point six percent,” Ziggy said.

“Okay,” Al said, pulling his handlink from its receptacle. “That’s good enough for me.”

With that, he headed up the ramp to the Imaging Chamber.

“However…” Ziggy added, just as he was entering the code to open the door, “due to the poor signal strength and current state of Mister Deleon, there may be unknown factors at play, Admiral. Please keep an eye out.”

Al looked back. “For what, exactly?”

“Unknown factors,” Ziggy said flatly.

“Oh, unknown factors,” Al repeated, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. Unknown factors. Real useful. Thanks for nothin’.”

As the door slid up, Al was greeted with a rowdy bar, with ‘Come Together’ playing loudly.

He stepped into the crowded, smoky bar, spotting Sam sitting at a table in front of a half-drunk glass of beer, looking positively miserable as a voluptuous woman caressed his hair. She was sitting sideways on the chair next to his, her legs perched over his lap. This woman was clearly much more interested in Sam than he was in her.

Sam’s eyes flicked towards Al, and his face pleaded with him to rescue him from a situation that Al didn’t see any problem with whatsoever.

“Va va voom,” he said as he passed through the table to get a closer look at the girl. “Sam, I recommend taking this one home. She’s into you, big time.”

“Of course she is,” Sam said in as low a volume as he could without his voice being consumed by the ambient noise. “She’s my wife.”

“What’s that, Bobby?” the woman murmured, before taking a long drink from a wine glass.

“I said, uh, I have to go to the bathroom,” Sam said into her ear, before gently lifting her legs off his and rotating them to the floor.

He rose from his seat, and gestured to Al with his head towards the signage for the restrooms. Al followed him, still sipping at his mug of coffee.

“Listen, Sam,” he said as he watched his friend weave through the crowd, while he simply phased through the people, “I suggest you enjoy yourself for now, because—”

“—Because I’m about to go to Vietnam?” Sam finished as he entered the head. He turned to look at Al with a deep frown.

Al winced. “So you already know.”

“I don’t think I can do this again, Al.”

He had the kind of fear in his eyes that Al rarely saw; way more than Al would have expected, if he was being honest. Like an animal in a trap.

“What do you mean you can’t do it again?”

Sam moved to the sink, and ran some water, splashing his face as he studied his reflection—a young man with a square jaw and dirty blond hair and a sharp widow’s peak. He looked exactly as anxious as Sam.

“When… when I recall the last time,” he said, staring at the water gurgling down the drain, “all I can think about is how even with Ziggy helping, people died. And it easily could have been me, you know? I don’t wanna go through that again, especially for a lost cause like this stupid war.” He pounded the heel of his hand on the edge of the sink.

Al studied Sam’s face a moment, trying to understand why he would already be this terrified. Had the leap saving his brother at the expense of Maggie Dawson given him PTSD?

“Well, let me give you Ziggy’s data, and we can circle back to that, okay Sam?”

Sam nodded, turning off the tap. “Okay. Yeah. What’s Ziggy got for me?”

“Well,” he said, punching at the handlink, which wasn’t easy while he had a coffee mug in his hand, “you are Robert Deleon, though you go by—”

“Bobby,” Sam interrupted.

“Right,” Al agreed. “Bobby. Today is May fifteenth and you’re due to ship out on the twentieth. There are no glaring problems for you to solve until you get to ’Nam, from what we’ve been able to figure out so far, but it’s only three days in once you’re there that Bobby’s gonna be killed.”

Sam let out a shuddering breath. “How?”

“Well, he was on his way to base when he and his platoon were ambushed,” Al read from the handlink. “He got shot in the heart and died almost instantly. Another couple were injured, but they managed to get away.”

Al looked up from the handlink, finding Sam white as a sheet. “You okay, Sam?”

Sam’s fear soured to anger. “No, I’m not okay! Do you know that when I leaped in, I was seconds from being sucker punched in the face? And then I find out I’m going to a war zone, and now you tell me I’m gonna die!”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to stop, Sam. We’ve done this lots of times. It’s no different just ’cause it’s a little more dangerous than usual.”

“Humph. ‘Lots of times,’” Sam muttered. “Yeah—too many. One of these leaps, I’m gonna run out of luck and die. Probably this one.”

Al lowered the handlink, watching his friend’s unusually pessimistic rant with worry. “Are you feeling okay, Sam?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “What I’m feeling is out of control of my life. Al, how long have I been doing this now?”

“Uh, I guess it’d be about four years now.”

“Four. Years.” Sam said, slapping his hand on the sink on each word. “At what point do I come to terms with the fact I’m never getting back home? I’m just gonna keep doing this until one day, I’ll fail to prevent my own death, and… then I guess God or Time or Fate will have to find some new sucker to take my place.”

Al wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Sam reach such a low point. And what could he say? He wasn’t wrong. It didn’t seem like the ‘Big Cheese’ had been doing him many favours of late. Anyone else would have had this kind of breakdown long ago.

Al closed in on Sam, resisting the urge to wrap an arm around him—doing so wouldn’t exactly have been any use, since his holographic arm would have just slipped right through Sam’s body.

“Hey…” he murmured. “Look, why don’t you go on home and get some sleep? Things’ll seem better in the morning.”

Sam snorted. “Sure they will—never mind that it’ll be one day closer to being shot.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “So, where exactly do I live?”

Chapter 3

Out of Order

Sam had to admit, he didn’t feel quite himself this leap. Everything was bothering him. And he felt a kind of anxiety that sat deep in his stomach, causing it to churn unceasingly.

He’d had momentary relief upon spotting Al, but then he’d snapped at his friend like all of this was his fault. It wasn’t, of course, Sam told himself. In fact, maybe it was his own fault—after all, he’d been the one who chose to step into the Quantum Leap Accelerator to begin with.

But he could tell there was something off-kilter about him right now; he just couldn’t figure out what. Maybe, he thought, it was some form of bleed-through from Bobby that was making him feel this way. Was Bobby secretly terrified of going to Vietnam too? Well, he thought, given what was going to happen to him, that was probably good instincts on his part.

He kept his head down as he walked Brenda back to what Al assured him was their little house, with a well-maintained flower bed in the front.

Bobby’s wife had her arm around him as she swayed and bumped against him, having downed numerous glasses of wine, as opposed to Sam’s one-and-a-half beers.

“He’s got feet down below his knees,” she sung in an off-key warble. “Something-something-something feel his diseaaassse!”

Sam looked down at her with a smirk. “Don’t quit your day job,” he mumbled, not caring if she could hear him.

She giggled at this, giving him a playful push. “That was mean, Bobby!”

Sam frowned. Yeah, it kind of was mean. He would normally keep stray thoughts like that to himself. As he opened the front door to Bobby’s home, he made a mental note to watch what came out of his mouth.

Inside the house, Al was waiting for him, his hands now free of the mug he’d been holding earlier, replaced by a cigar between his fingers.

“Alright, Brenda,” Sam said, taking the drunken woman by the hand, “Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep it off.”

Brenda gave him a disappointed look that reminded Sam of a pouting child. “Hey, don’t you wanna make love to me, Bobby?” She played at his shirt collar, and moved to start unbuttoning it. Sam guided her hands away.

“Look… honey…” he said haltingly. How was he supposed to put across that he was just not interested? “I, uh… well, I’m not feeling so hot. I guess it’s the nerves.”

“Oh. Okay, baby. I won’t force it…” Crestfallen, Brenda heaved a sigh and stumbled in the direction of what Sam assumed to be the bedroom. As she bumped into the door frame, she turned around with what Sam assumed was supposed to be a sultry smile. “But if you start feelin’ better, I’ll be waiting in bed.”

“Oh, Sam…” Al piped up, hovering behind him, “she wants you bad. What a waste.”

Sam shot Al a dirty look. He wasn’t going to sleep with a drunk girl he didn’t even know. And he felt insulted that Al would suggest doing such a thing.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” Al said, waving his hands defensively. “She sees you as her husband, and all she wants is some comfort before you get shipped out. She’s gonna be pining for him when he’s gone, you know.”

“Let her pine,” Sam muttered. “I’m not Bobby, okay?”

“Well she doesn’t know that,” Al said, waving his cigar towards the bedroom. “She deserves some marital bliss.”

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have leaped into this guy so early, then,” Sam countered. “I can’t give her what she needs, because what she needs isn’t me. And frankly, I’m tired of having to navigate these kinds of awkward situations all the time.”

He sat down heavily on the olive green couch, burying his head in his hands and groaning.

Was it too much to ask to leap into some kind of hermit living in a cave somewhere, just to have a break? The thought of having no more strangers for whom to put on an improv show was very appealing right now.

Boy, I really am losing it, he thought as he dragged his hands down his face. The hell’s the matter with me?

“Jeez, Sam…” Al said, voice strained. “I kinda wonder if the foul mood you have goin’ on here is maybe connected to some o’ the problems we’ve got.”

Sam looked up at him warily. “Problems?” He folded his arms. “Oh, great, of course—when aren’t there problems? So, what is it this time? Ziggy has a toothache, despite having no teeth? Or maybe she’s got a computer virus that’s making her speak backwards. It’s always something unbelievable like that.”

Al’s head bobbed from side to side. “No, not so much that. Ziggy’s doing okay for the most part. It’s actually the—”

As if to demonstrate the problems, Al’s hologram flickered and vanished before Sam’s eyes.

“Whoa!” Sam exclaimed, reaching his hand to the space where Al had been. “Al?”

Sam stood, staring at the empty spot, perplexed, and feeling panic rising in his chest.

“Oh boy.”

*        *        *

As Bobby’s living room flickered in and out of the Imaging Chamber, Al momentarily found himself in a dark place under a starry sky, next to what he could have sworn was a tall tepee. But the discrepancy lasted only a split-second before the image dissipated, leaving him alone in the white room.

Al grumbled, bashing at the handlink, which responded with an unhelpful squawk.

“Gooshie?” He called out. “What’s going on?”

“Admiral…” Gooshie’s nervous voice came over the intercom, “we seem to have lost the signal for now.”

“Thank you for that, Sherlock,” Al said wryly. “Real great detective skills you have there. Why, Gooshie?”

“Sir, if we knew that, I could tell you. Ziggy seems to think there’s some interference coming from a second source, but she can’t make heads or tails of it.”

Al opened the Imaging Chamber door and marched down the ramp into the Control Room, where Gooshie stood at the main console, flanked by Tina and Donna.

“Listen up,” he said, commanding their collective attention. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on with all this, but I need all of you to do whatever you can to get the Imaging Chamber back up and running at full capacity. Sam’s in a bad head space and I don’t think I should leave him alone for long.”

“Bad head space…?” Donna repeated, looking at Al with worry. “What do you mean?”

Al sighed, placing the handlink on the console and stubbing out his cigar in an ash tray that popped out of the side. “I don’t know exactly, but he’s been in a big time bad mood since I got to him, and I just have a bad feeling. He’s usually way more even-tempered, and I’m worried about him.”

Donna’s eyes dropped to the control panels. “What do you think the problem is?” she asked. “Could it be to do with the last Vietnam leap?”

Al gave her a broad shrug. “He did bring that up, so it’s certainly on his mind.”

Donna nodded, pursing her lips. “Okay. Well, we’ll work on the Imaging Chamber, and in the meantime you should consult with Verbena about Sam.”

“Where is she now?”

Donna pointed to the corridor that led to the Waiting Room. “She’s monitoring Bobby.”

“Hmm.” Al scratched his head. “He’s another weird piece in all this. What’s the matter with him, anyway?”

“I detect abnormal quantum fluctuations in Robert Deleon’s atoms,” Ziggy chimed in.

Al looked up at the blue orb. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Upon each observation, he has slight alterations to his atomic makeup. I am yet to understand why.”

Al turned his attention back to Donna. “Are you making any sense outta this?”

Donna’s forehead creased and she gave her head a shake. “I don’t quite understand, but it sounds like he’s caught in some kind of state of… superposition, almost. Maybe something went wrong with the leap? It all sounds terribly volatile. I really can’t imagine the kind of physiological effect it might have.”

“Well, that might explain why he’s been blowing chunks.” Al grabbed the handlink and started towards the Waiting Room. “Alright, you kids get cracking—Sam needs us. I’m gonna go see Beeks.”

Chapter 4

Space Cadet

Okay, thought Sam, so this is a new one.

As he emerged into the dark night from the tepee, several flashlights shone into his eyes, obscuring his view of just how many of these hippies had gathered to meet what they kept calling a ‘star child.’

He gave a sheepish wave to the fawning crowd, and found himself navigating a sea of hands reaching out to him, tugging on his clothes and caressing his skin.

He didn’t know how to handle this one bit. He had tried to brush it all off as a hallucination caused by the drugs they were all clearly doing, but these hippies were quite insistent that he was no longer whoever ‘Richie’ was. The identity of the man he’d leaped into was a complete mystery to Sam, of course, so there was no way he was going to be able to convince these people he was still the man he was pretending to be. He didn’t so much as have a wallet with an ID. And Al hadn’t made his entrance yet, either, which was a shame.

Still, as he was shuffled along by the crowd towards another structure—some kind of geodesic dome, it looked like—he was already thinking that maybe he could take advantage of this situation to do good.

But, in order to do that, he would need to figure out exactly where he was and who these people were. And, apparently, what they were expecting of a ‘star child.’

Sam was ushered excitedly into the great dome, the inside of which appeared to be designed for a haphazard combination of functions—on one side, bunk beds in varying states of use. On the other, a kitchen and tables. The back and centre seemed to be some kind of stage or pulpit with an open area where people were loitering in groups, engaged in activities like smoking, playing musical instruments, and… Sam felt his cheeks burn as he saw one group of about five people all making out together. There could have been more explicit activities, but he looked away before he could take any more in.

The dome was lit with a series of naked bulbs hanging around the perimeter, and Sam could hear the distinct hum of a generator coming from outside, which suggested wherever he was, it was off the grid.

From the stage area, he watched a man approach. He had large round glasses, a generous moustache, and frizzy brown hair that ran down past his shoulders, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Sam sensed the others around him step back, giving the man some kind of deference.

The man dropped his cigarette to the floor, stamping it out as he gave Sam a once-over. He pursed his lips and turned to the woman beside him who’d earlier identified his eye colour.

“He don’t look any different to me, Marsha.”

The woman, apparently named Marsha, shook her head. “Well you ain’t tripping. The rest of us space cadets saw it.”

The man looked sceptically to Sam. “They’re saying you’re some kinda walk-in. That right?”

Sam bit his lip. Well, the truthful answer was in the affirmative, he realised. But he couldn’t just come out and admit that, could he? It was the rules. But he didn’t want to lie. Either option seemed like the wrong one.

“Well…” Sam said, stalling for time. “That’s… that’s certainly what they’re saying.”

“Yeah? What about you?”

“Look, I…” he continued, his tongue becoming tied. “I don’t really know what’s going on.” That, he thought with a sigh, was at least the truth.

The man nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “What’s your name, o star child?” He spoke the words in jest, grinning.

Sam’s eyes flickered around the room at all the people hanging on his every word.

“It’s Richie, isn’t it?” he asked in a markedly uncertain tone, clearing his throat mid-sentence.

“Ya don’t seem too sure of that.”

“That’s because he’s not Richie,” Marsha said, her statement far more firm than Sam’s had been. She turned to Sam, speaking loudly. “Welcome to Earth, traveller from the stars! By what name are you known from whence you hail?”

Sam ran a hand down his chin, lost for words.

And at that moment, he was sure he heard the Imaging Chamber door swish open, and he spun in a circle, looking for the glowing doorway.

“Al…?” he whispered, but there was no sign of the Observer. He wondered for a moment whether he had LSD in his system as a carryover from Richie, and was hallucinating too. That would be a new experience, he thought. Not one that he’d intentionally seek out, but if it happened, he figured he’d be able to handle it, probably.

“His name is Al!” Marsha exclaimed, and turned in a circle, copying Sam’s action.

Sam cringed as the hippies all around him spun on the spot as if it had been some kind of deliberate alien greeting.

“Well. Al,” the man said, frowning as if he didn’t believe what Marsha was saying at all. “I’m Danny, and I founded this little community.” He took Sam’s hand and shook. “Earth welcomes you, and Moonstone Ranch welcomes you.”

“Well, it’s nice to… meet you…” Sam said, stifling the urge to giggle at how surreal all of this was. Everyone was going to be calling him ‘Al’ now.

“Come on, friends,” Danny gestured to the people around him, “let’s make our ‘visitor’ feel at home.”

The next two hours were a blur to Sam; a procession of faces greeted and introduced themselves to him, each hoping to receive ascendant wisdom from him, but getting instead no more than a smile and words of encouragement. He was fed a stew that had been cooking in the kitchen—which he found quite delicious, though he was a bit iffy on the hygiene levels of the dishes—and found himself being massaged by two women as a group of people presented him with a flower crown.

It was a little strange, but he found himself kind of enjoying the experience, as guilty as he felt about misleading these people by omission.

As he found a way out of the crowd of—groupies?—he wandered over to a stash of musical instruments near the stage, and picked up a guitar, strumming and tuning it.

Marsha approached, grinning ear to ear. “Are you going to play us a song from the stars?”

Sam looked up at her, chuckling. “I don’t know about the stars, but…”

He appraised the environment, still not knowing when he was. Well, it seemed a safe bet that he was early seventies, probably.

And as he wracked his swiss-cheesed brain for a song to play, only one seemed to come to mind, and he figured it must have been because he was wondering why Al hadn’t come.

And so, he launched into Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie, and watched as those in the dome slowly gathered around him, swaying to the music.

And when he finished, Marsha had a hand cupped over Danny’s ear. Danny looked white as a sheet as she whispered to him, and he evaded Sam’s questioning eye before wandering out of the dome.

Sam, however, didn’t have the chance to wonder what that was about, as he had a new wave of people reaching out to grab at him.

“Far out, did you write that?” came the voice of an older man he recalled had introduced himself as Theo.

Sam let his jaw hang a moment, as he decided how to answer. Apparently he hadn’t made correct calculations as to the year. “Uh, no… that one’s a Bowie original. He, uh, hasn’t cut the record yet, but…”

“Oh man, Al’s met Bowie!” someone cried out.

Sam laughed. “No, I—”

“Naw, that’s not it,” said another. “He can see the future.”

Sam closed his mouth, not wanting to give away anything.

Finally, as he stared down all the curious faces, Marsha pushed her way to the front of the pack and took him by the hand.

“Come on, you look like you need to relax,” she said with a warm smile. “I’ll take you to my lodge.”

Sam allowed her to lead him out of the dome and through the dark to one of the smaller tepees dotted over the flat landscape, and he felt content to let her take charge, since he was feeling a little overstimulated.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, pulling aside the canvas flaps at the entrance.

The tepee appeared to be mostly a bedroom, which slowly came into view as Marsha lit a few pillar candles inside.

“Do you have any of Richie’s memories?” she asked, kneeling on the foam mattress on the ground and looking up at him.

“…Well, no,” Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sorry.”

Marsha nodded. “Are you here just to visit? Or have you come here for good?” Sam could see it mattered to her what his answer was going to be.

“Just a visit,” he said, and watched Marsha let out a held breath.

She smiled up at him. “I’m glad. I… like Richie.” She began to pull off her clothes, and Sam looked away, embarrassed.

“You… have modesty in outer space?” she asked in a surprised tone.

Sam laughed. “Yes, I guess we do. I’m sorry, I—”

Marsha pulled her top back on. “It’s alright. You’re here to lead us to the future, Al. I’ll do things your way. Just say the word.”

“Oh boy,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes.

Chapter 5

High On Life

“What’s the damage, ’Beena?” Al asked as he leaned into the door of the Waiting Room.

Inside, Verbena had a thermometer gun pointed at Bobby’s ear as he lay on a hospital bed, face pale and beaded with sweat. He was hooked up to a drip and a heart monitor, which appeared erratic.

The psychiatrist looked up at Al with a grim smile.

“He’s very sick, but we still haven’t been able to figure out exactly why. He’s going to need close observation and a team standing by in case things take a turn for the worst.”

She leaned in to his ear, whispering. “We did find traces of…” she cleared her throat, “uh, LSD in his blood. But most of his symptoms aren’t consistent with the effects.”

“Acid, huh? Maybe he still thinks that’s what’s goin’ on.” Al looked down at the patient, whose eyes were open but unfocused. “Hey, kid. You with us?”

Bobby blinked , his eyes flicking up toward Al and squinting at his burgundy blazer.

“Huh?” he mumbled through a slack jaw.

“Bobby, can you understand what I’m saying?” Al continued.

Bobby responded with a nod, but he accompanied it with what may have been a disapproving groan, and brought a hand to his face. “Stop,” he croaked.

“Bobby, if you can describe your symptoms a little more, we can help you feel better,” Verbena said, gently rubbing his shoulder.

Bobby groaned again. “Stop… stop saying that…” he muttered, hiding his eyes. “I’m not—” he cut himself off, turning himself over and leaning off the bed, retching. Verbena grabbed at a sick bag and placed it at his mouth as he lost his lunch.

“You’re not what?” Al asked, as Bobby continued to dry heave.

“I’m…” he said, and finally settled back on the bed, burying his head in the pillow. “I’m not Bobby, man,” came his muffled conclusion.

“What…?” Al turned him over to look into his face. “What do you mean by that?”

But the kid had passed out.

Al exchanged a bewildered look with Verbena.

“Any ideas?” Al asked, raising an eyebrow.

Verbena shook her head. “I don’t know. He was the one who gave me his name to begin with. He seemed fine with it earlier.” She licked her lips. “Well, he’s not exactly in his right mind. It could just be feverish nonsense.”

“Or the acid?”

“Or the acid,” Verbena repeated with a smirk. “That could be a factor.”

Al nodded. “Well, you keep at it when he comes around.” He turned to leave, but paused, looking back. “You know, the Imaging Chamber just went kaput. I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to get back to Sam any time soon. But, well, Sam’s havin’ a bit of a crisis. Up here.” He tapped his temple. “You oughta get a relief doctor in here and get some rest, ’cause you might be needed for him later.”

Verbena furrowed her brow. “What kind of crisis are we talking about here?”

Al snorted, but met her eye with an uneasy look. “The kind of crisis you’d expect from someone who’s been through what Sam has the past four years. Maybe it’s finally caught up with him.”

Verbena gave Al a sad smile. “I see. Well, in that case I’ll take your advice.”

“Okay, I’ll see you round, Beeks. I’m gonna go get a real cuppa joe, since I’ve gotta wait around for the Imaging Chamber to come back online.” He waved, and headed for the door, taking one final look back at the man on the bed with sweat drenching his hair. He realised that to everyone else here, the kid had Sam’s appearance. It must have been real hard to see him that way.

Al shook his head and continued out, still wondering if whatever was wrong with Bobby was the reason Sam was so out of sorts, though he couldn’t quite connect the two seemingly very different problems in his head.

*        *        *

In a tract ranch house in the San Diego suburbs, Sam awoke in a bed next to a woman he’d gratefully found sleeping the night before, rather than awaiting his entrance with lacy lingerie and a come-hither look.

Still, he hadn’t had a peaceful night at all. He’d spent most of it staring up at the ceiling, trying to quell the deep unease he felt in the pit of his stomach. Al had assured him he’d feel better in the morning, but if anything he felt worse, because he was so tired. Not to mention all his hours alone with his thoughts, which twisted and writhed into anxiety.

And he still hadn’t seen Al since his hologram had glitched out the night before, which only added to the ruminations. They had time to fix whatever the problem was before he was due to be killed, but knowing that did little to calm his nerves.

More than just his impending deployment, he’d reviewed what he could recall about all his leaps, and began to realise just how much he’d suffered. Whoever was putting him through all of this had a sick sense of humour, he decided. Having him fix everyone else’s problems, and all the while, never giving him a break. Was he doomed to this servitude forever?

Sam gingerly pulled back the covers from his bed and crept out of the room, letting Brenda continue to sleep off her overindulgence. The less he had to deal with her, the better.

It was now seven in the morning, and Sam rubbed his eyes as he headed into the kitchen for breakfast. He began systematically looking in each cupboard and drawer to find out where everything was located; something he tended to do when given the chance, to save him grief later.

“Sam!”

Sam looked up from his crouched position under the kitchen bench. The voice came from… he couldn’t tell where. It sounded like a bad radio signal.

“Al?”

“Hey, can you see me?”

“No, I can’t see you at all. What the hell’s going on?” Sam whispered fiercely as he stood and turned himself in a circle, eyes peeled for a flickering hologram.

“Damn,” the crackling audio of Al said. “Listen, we’re having trouble with your brainwave signal, Sam. You gotta bear with us, okay?”

“My brainwave signal?” Sam frowned. “What does Ziggy say about it?”

“She says there’s some sort of interference, but she hasn’t worked it out yet. We’re using twice as much power as usual just to get you hearing me, but that’s better than earlier, so…”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

“That’s great,” he griped. “That’s just great. Well, have you at least got any news for me? I don’t suppose I have a chance of getting out of here any time sooner than you thought?”

“Sorry, buddy, no such luck,” Al said. “And the kid in the Waiting Room is sick as a dog, too. We don’t know what’s causing it.”

“Sick?” Sam rubbed his forehead. This was nothing but bad news, and he was beginning to wish he hadn’t asked.

“But listen, we found LSD in his system.”

“LSD?” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Nobody mentioned that last night. They were all just drinking alcohol.”

“Well, it was there,” Al assured him. “And meanwhile we have you with the bad vibes turned up to eleven—everything’s gone caca, Sam. But I promise you we’ll fix it. You just keep your head down and wait it out, okay?”

Sam slapped a bowl onto the kitchen counter and started filling it with Rice Krispies. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothing,” he muttered. “I was gonna do that anyway.”

Al was silent, causing Sam to look where he had been calculating the audio had been coming from, and realised that he was now seeing Al, but not hearing him, even with his mouth moving.

“Dammit,” he said. “Now I can see you but I can’t hear anything. This is even worse!” Sam threw up his hands. “You know what, forget it. If this is how it’s gonna be, don’t even bother. You might as well go home. Maybe then at least one of us will get a good night’s sleep.”

He turned from Al, poured some milk over his cereal, and walked away in a huff.

*        *        *

Meanwhile, in a tepee on Moonstone Ranch, another Sam awoke beside yet another woman he’d not touched, and immediately saw a faded, flickering Al standing in front of him.

He sat up, resting on an arm and brushing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand.

“Al, you made it!” he said, almost laughing with sheer relief to see his best friend. The relief turned to confusion, however, when he noticed that Al seemed to be looking above him, and talking. But Sam couldn’t hear a word of it.

“Al, I can’t hear what you’re saying,” he said, climbing to his feet and waving a hand over the oblivious Observer’s face. “Al?”

“Who are you talking to…?” came Marsha’s sleepy voice from below him.

Sam looked down at her awkwardly. “Uh, nobody. Just myself.”

Marsha yawned. “Oh. You talk to yourself in the second person?”

“Sure, don’t you?” Sam said with a crooked grin.

“Well, sometimes I guess,” she said, and rolled over to get more shut-eye. “Far be it for me to judge whatever alien customs you have. Just don’t be too loud, Al. It’s still so early and I’m not ready to wake up.”

Sam watched her a moment, smiling. This commune was so carefree. Time meant little here, it seemed. He was starting to see the appeal of living this way. No clocks, no deadlines. Everyone helping each other out.

“Look Sam, I’m worried about you,” came Al’s voice quite suddenly.

Sam whipped his head around to the hologram, only to find it was no longer there.

“What do you mean, Al?” he whispered.

“Please just try to relax a little while you can,” the disembodied voice continued. “Promise me that—aww, dammit. Gooshie! He lost audio now!”

“Wait, I didn’t,” Sam insisted. “I just got audio. Can’t you see or hear me?”

“Dammit. This is pointless now if he can’t hear me. I’m gettin’ out of here and we’ll regroup.” With that, Sam heard the Imaging Chamber door open and shut, and then heard no more.

He stood there for a moment, trying to understand what had just happened. It was almost like Al had been incapable of generating the audio-visual hologram of Sam’s environment, and as such was attempting to speak with him sight unseen. It clearly hadn’t worked too successfully.

Well, he thought, shaking his head, At least now I know he’s trying to get to me. I’m sure they’ll figure out how to properly get in contact eventually.

Man, what a great team he had, working so hard just to keep in touch, because they all cared about him so much. It just about brought a tear to his eye. What did he do to deserve them?

Sam smiled. For now, he figured he’d do exactly what Al had requested: try to relax a little. And what better place to do that than here?

Sam stepped out of the tepee, taking a deep breath of the fresh air, and looked out across the flat expanse, with tufted grass and bushes growing wild over sandy soil, with a bright blue, cloudless sky overhead.

Maybe that was why he leaped here. For a nice, relaxing vacation. Sam closed his eyes, letting the sun warm him. Yeah, this was a pretty nice leap. He had no idea why Al would be ‘worried’ about him.

Chapter 6

Positron

The air was clear, the day was warm, and Sam had a new lease on life. Taking a stroll, he got himself a good look at the commune he had leaped to. Tepees spotted the plains, with a few small structures that had been built around the large dome where Sam had been the previous night. He could see a few outhouses, and a shack with the word ‘showers’ painted on a sign.

The dome itself was actually quite stunning to look at; each panel within the geodesic frame was its own unique colour. They looked primarily made from metal, and Sam wondered about the insulation—it looked like it could have been something of an oven given the strong sunlight.

He continued to the outhouses, and winced as he approached—he didn’t need to open the door to be able to smell them. Oh boy!

Well, he figured, he had to go. So he held his nose and opened the rickety door. As the wave of stench came at him, it almost reminded him of the barn back on his farm when the manure needed cleaning out. The thought made him feel kind of… well, nostalgic.

Somehow, the filthy inside of the outhouse wasn’t enough to bother him that much, and he instead made a mental note to give the place a good clean later. If he didn’t really know what he was here for, he decided that he could just wing it and help out wherever he was able. Even if it wasn’t his goal, he could at least leave the place in better condition than when he arrived.

He moved on to the showers, and although the water was stone cold, he found it invigorating.

It was at this point that Sam began to wonder why he was in such a good mood, when these kinds of inconveniences would normally get under his skin. He wasn’t his usual self—but he was certainly not upset that he was taking all this in stride.

As he emerged from the shower shack, rubbing his wet hair with one of the towels that sat in a stack by the door, he caught sight of a small, barefoot boy kicking a soccer ball by himself on a patch of grass.

He sauntered over to the kid, wondering who he was and where his parents were.

“Hey there,” he said as he approached. “Want another player?”

The boy’s face lit up. “Yeah, okay!”

He kicked the ball to Sam, who inelegantly returned it. Sam didn’t think he’d ever played soccer; he was more of a basketball kind of guy. But this was nice.

“Hey, uh, where are your Mom and Dad?” he asked casually as the boy lined up a dropkick.

“Mom’s still sleepin’,” said the boy.

The ball let loose, flying over Sam’s head. He chuckled, running after it. He kicked it back towards the kid, and ran after it.

“And Dad?”

“I don’t got a Dad. Mom said he was mean, and that’s why she came here before I got born.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. So, this place was a refuge of sorts for his mother. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Mike,” the boy said, kicking the ball back towards Sam. “And, um, you’re… Richie, aren’t you? I seen you around. You never talked to me before.”

Sam picked up the ball, and moved closer to Mike. “Uh, yeah. Listen, everyone’s gonna be calling me ‘Al’ for a while.”

“How come?”

Sam twirled the ball on his finger as though it was a basketball, buying time as he decided how to explain the complicated situation. “Well, good question. See, I might look like Richie, but I’m actually… another person.”

“Like you’re his twin or somethin’?”

Sam rolled this idea around in his mind. “Sure. Like an identical twin who’s filling in for him a little while.”

“Oh, I get it. So you’re… Al?”

Still wishing that hadn’t been the name he’d blurted out, Sam nodded, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah. I’m Al.”

He offered the ball to Mike, who took it, and gave it another mighty dropkick, sending it hurtling through the air, bouncing off the side of the dome.

“You’ve got a good kick, Mike,” Sam said, grinning, and ruffling the boy’s mop-top.

“Thanks! It’s kinda all there is to do around here,” Mike admitted.

“You don’t have books to read, or—?”

“Oh, I can’t read.”

“You can’t read?” Sam was surprised for a moment, but then realised that there didn’t seem to be a school around here. “Doesn’t anyone teach you things?”

“Sure,” Mike said, “I learn a lot about doing stuff around here. Mom’s teaching me how to cook, and Danny’s been showin’ me how to build stuff.”

“But not how to read?”

Mike shrugged. “Is reading fun?”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Fun? You bet it’s fun! And you’d love how much you can learn for yourself once you know how to read.”

Mike considered this, then looked up at Sam earnestly. “Can you teach me?”

Sam crouched to his level, smiling. “Well, I don’t know how long I can stay, but I can start you off, and maybe find you a mentor. How’s that sound?”

“Okay!” Mike said, grinning.

Then a thought occurred to Sam. “Are there any other children that live here?”

“Yeah,” Mike said with a nod. “There’s Tilly and Geoffrey and Karma.”

“Karma?”

Mike shrugged. “She’s five,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Sam chuckled. “Well, maybe we could set up a little makeshift classroom and teach all of you at once.”

“Okay,” Mike said, “as long as it’s not a con-form-ity factory.”

“Conformity factory…?” Sam raised an eyebrow. “Now who taught you that one?”

“Danny says that’s what schools are.”

“Does he now?” Sam smirked. “Well, not if they’re done right.” He stood, looking towards the dome. “I’d better go see Danny, huh?”

So, this was why he was here. It must have been, Sam decided. He was here to make this commune not just a collaborative place to live, but a place where children could learn. And while he was at it, he could probably improve the living situation—assuming he had the time.

He rubbed his hands together, excited to grow this place to its full potential. He’d heard bad things about hippie communes in his youth. Some of which was true, and much of which was propaganda. But, being here, he saw nothing inherently wrong with the ideals of living in a communal place, sharing everything as a family. It was kind of inspiring, really. It was just that they needed a bit of guidance. And Sam seemed to be perfectly positioned to be such a guide.

As he neared the dome entrance, he caught sight of the generator positioned against the outer perimeter, and he wondered if he could even do something about the power situation.

Okay, he thought, Outhouse needs an overhaul. Even if I can’t get in a septic tank, I can probably think of a better way to compost the waste and redirect the nasty smells. Meanwhile the showers could use some water heating.

Kids need a classroom and a teacher, and definitely some books. Maybe some kind of basic renewable power could be set up, if I have that kind of time on my hands. Hydroelectric, if there’s a water source—just need to build a water turbine, and these people seem pretty industrious.

If there’s no moving water, maybe I could rig up some home made solar panels or wind turbines. If I can charge a series of car batteries…

As he listed off all his tasks, he realised that his idea of a relaxing vacation involved working really hard. Well, if that was how he relaxed, then so be it. He didn’t get seven doctorates by sitting on his hands. And even if he couldn’t put all these ideas into use, he could write them down in the hopes that they’d finish what he started when he inevitably leaped away.

Now, what else do I need to do?

He passed through the door, into the dome, and immediately breathed in the scent of eggs cooking in the kitchen area.

Breakfast. That’s what I need to do.

*        *        *

Around twenty-nine years in the future, Al stepped into the Waiting Room to see how Bobby was doing.

The relief doctor, Doctor Bellinger, was writing something on the kid’s chart, and Al nodded to him.

“How’s our guy, Doc?”

“Well, there doesn’t seem to have been any deterioration in his condition, but I’d hesitate to say it’s stable.”

“Has he been talking at all?”

“No, not as such. He seems to be pointedly ignoring me.” Doctor Bellinger put the chart down, leaning over the patient. “Bobby? Are you going to talk to the Admiral?”

At this, Bobby’s eyes seemed to clear somewhat, and they popped wide open. “Admiral? Where?”

Al furrowed his brow as he watched Bobby stiffen and glance erratically around the room.

Al waggled his fingers. “I’m the Admiral, kid.”

“Shit,” Bobby said, shutting his eyes, his shoulders dropping again. “How… how did you find me?”

“What do you mean, how did I find you?” Al scratched his temple. “Were you lost?”

“You think… ugh,” Bobby moaned. “You’re gonna send me to Vietnam, aren’t you?”

Al exchanged a tense look with the Doctor. “Well, you were drafted, weren’t you?”

Bobby covered his face with his hands. “I’m too sick to go to Vietnam, man. Don’t make me go. I’m too sick. This doctor knows I’m too sick.” He gestured at Bellinger. “Please…”

He looked feebly at Al, his eyes moist and pleading.

“Look…” Al said with a pitying smile, “I promise you, as long as you’re this sick, we won’t be sending you to Vietnam, okay?”

He could only promise that much, but it seemed to appease the kid, who once again drifted off into sleep.

Al left the Waiting Room with more questions than he had before he’d entered. And it seemed like a job for Verbena, as usual.

Chapter 7

Oh, Brother

Taking the time he had before Brenda made her appearance to snoop around, Sam found himself standing by the mantle in Bobby’s home, his eyes moving over photos in their frames.

A wedding photo of Bobby and Brenda sat in the centre, flanked by one of an older couple—which Sam assumed was either Bobby’s or Brenda’s parents—and one that was curiously face down. He lifted it, finding a photo of a young Bobby and his parents, along with… Sam’s eyebrows rose as he saw that there were two identical teenage boys in the photo, one of whom was Bobby and the other was, evidently, a twin brother.

“Huh…” he mumbled as he looked down at the black-and-white photograph, wondering why it had been hidden like that. So, Bobby had an identical twin. Al had never mentioned that. Not that he’d had the chance to give much information before unceremoniously losing his signal.

“Think you’ll get a call from him?” came Brenda’s voice. Sam turned to see her standing in the doorway, yawning.

“What?” Sam said, placing the frame back on the mantle, upright this time.

“Before you leave,” she continued. “Assuming he’s not dead or something.”

“Dead?!” Sam studied her casual demeanour. This was obviously something they’d spoken about many times, but he wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply he was dead,” Brenda said, waving a hand. “Don’t look at me like that! I just thought that maybe, as a loving brother, he’d have the common courtesy to at least say goodbye to you before you ship out. But maybe he’s still afraid you’ll track him down and get him put away for dodging.”

Sam turned his eye back to the photo, a moment of clarity dawning on him.

Oh, of course, he thought. The draft lottery was based on birth date. It was clear that both twins would have been chosen for service. So, he surmised, was Bobby’s brother then a draft dodger? In hiding? Jeez, I wish I’d leaped into him instead.

“Well, I hope he does,” Sam said. “Call me, I mean.”

Brenda shuffled towards the kitchen. “If he doesn’t, I think you should disown the bastard,” she snarled. “Oh god, does my head hurt. I’m gonna take an aspirin.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, studying the twins in the photo.

The plot thickens, he thought, wondering just how this missing twin might fit into his leap. And he had an inkling, now, why the photo had been facing down. One twin on his way to war, while the other went AWOL. Bobby must have been furious with… whatever the brother’s name was.

Sam found himself empathising with both brothers. In his current state of mind, he would probably run too, given the opportunity. But to do so when you knew your own twin was going to stay and face it? That was a low blow. Especially if he just dropped off the face of the Earth with no forwarding address.

The parents of the twins were probably none too pleased about it, either, he figured.

But, he thought, Al hadn’t said a thing about this situation, so Ziggy therefore mustn’t have calculated odds high enough for her to think it had something to do with the leap. Right? And the last thing he needed was to complicate things by trying to solve everybody’s problems without it being necessary.

No, he’d just keep his head down, just like Al had said. No need to make waves.

So why did the thought of doing that make him feel so uneasy?

Behind him, Brenda wandered back into the living room with a bottle of Bayer aspirin in one hand and a hip flask in the other.

“What’s in that flask?” Sam asked, giving her a suspicious look.

Brenda looked down at the metal bottle, bewildered. “What do you think?” She held up both of the items in her hands. “My hangover cure. Hair of the dog to wash down my aspirin. Same as usual.”

“Usual?” Sam said. “How often do you… you know, need to cure a hangover?”

Brenda looked at him like he’d grown another head. “Bobby, what is this all of a sudden? You got a problem with my drinking, Mister Pot-calling-the-kettle-black?”

Al didn’t mention this either, Sam thought as he opened his mouth to argue. He shook his head. “You know what, never mind.”

There was no point in getting too involved in this guy’s life. He was only here to stop his death, and make sure this woman had someone returning to her from the war. She could figure out her health later. She was still young. Lots of people drank their way through their twenties and turned out okay.

And the nagging instinct in the back of his head, he thought, could shut the hell up any time, please.

As Sam opened the front door to collect the rolled-up newspaper on the doorstep, the sound of static filled his ears, and a ghostly vision of Al appeared on the lawn.

“Sam, I don’t know how long I’ve got,” his distorted voice said urgently. “We’re at critical power usage. Can you hear me?”

“Not well, but yes,” Sam said, sighing.

“What’s that? Speak up, Sam. I’m hearing other voices, I think.” Al was squinting. “And I can’t see you at all.”

“Other voices? The interference?” Sam wondered aloud. “Yes!” he yelled. “I hear you!”

“What?” Brenda’s voice called from inside the house.

“Nothing, honey!” Sam shouted back to her. “Just saying ‘hi’ to the neighbours.” He closed the front door behind him in an effort to give himself a little more privacy from her.

“Al,” he said loudly, “Bobby has a twin brother. Got anything on him?”

“Bobby has a what?” Al asked. “A thin mother? Okay, but how big are her—”

“No, a twin brother!” Sam said, his frustration mounting as he scanned the suburban street for people staring at him.

“Oh!” Al said, and began tapping at the handlink. A moment later, he looked up, his brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

Sam screwed up his face. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I coulda swore you called my name,” Al said, shaking his head. “Well, anyway…” he returned his eyes to the handlink. “Yeah, Sam, you’re right. Guy named Richard Deleon. He went missing when he got drafted, only to turn up in a… in a drug?” he batted at the handlink. “Oh, a drug raid. A drug raid on some hippie commune. Waited out the war in prison after that.”

“Hippie commune? Where?”

“Sam,” Al said in a warning tone. “It’s got nothing to do with your leap, at least according to Ziggy.” Al turned around, squinting with confusion. “What? Sam, I don’t know what you’re… hey, slow down, alright?”

“Al? I didn’t even—”

“What kids?” Al continued, seeming to be hearing something that Sam definitely could not. “Outhouse? What the heck are you talking about?”

“I could ask the same of you,” Sam said. “Who the hell are you talking to?”

“What? I thought I was talking to you.” He tilted his head back, shouting. “Gooshie, something’s gone all funky again!”

“Oh my god,” Sam moaned. “Just go fix the problem already. I’m sick of this.” He turned on his heel, pointing a finger back to Al. “And don’t come back until you have this time. I don’t need this.”

As he headed back in the house, he heard Al say, “I don’t think we can keep this up any longer, Sam. I think Albuquerque’s about to have a brownout thanks to this. But I’m glad to hear you’re in a better mood. Take it easy, awright? I’ll be back when—” and then the hologram fizzled out again with a burst of static.

Sam closed the door, brow furrowed. Better mood?

Chapter 8

Ideas, Man

Under the shelter of a well-constructed metal dome, Sam chewed thoughtfully on his scrambled eggs. He sat at a long, communal table where a number of others had joined him, wanting to get to know the ‘star child’ better, and Sam was fielding their questions with growing amusement.

“Do you have a space ship, Al?” asked one very short girl with auburn pigtails and a flower painted on her cheek.

Sam swallowed his food, brows high. “Uh, well—not exactly.”

“Then how did you get here?”

Sam’s eyes flicked down to his food. Was there a way to explain leaping in a way that wouldn’t break his rules?

“Well, you know, it’s sort of instantaneous—to me, at least,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “One minute I’m someplace else, and the next I’m… here.”

“Wow,” the girl said, sipping at a cup of juice. “So you don’t even need to fly here in a saucer or nothing?”

“No saucers required, no. Unless there’s a cup of tea to go with it,” he said with a grin.

“What about your planet?” asked another admirer. “What’s it like?”

Sam chuckled. These questions were awkward, but pretty entertaining. It was certainly a test of his finely honed improvisation skills, that was for sure.

“Let’s see…” he said, staring into the middle distance, “There’s this… palace, see… in a cavern under a mountain, with a whole lot of flashing lights in the walls. And a big blue orb in the ceiling which holds—uh—all the planet’s history. It’ll answer any question you ask it, though not without an attitude.”

“Groovy,” the man replied wistfully. “Maybe humanity will some day have the enlightenment to ask it something ourselves.”

Stifling a snicker, Sam nodded. “Some day, I’m sure humanity will attain those dizzying heights.”

Sam returned his attention to his plate, and as he scooped some egg onto his fork, he felt the energy in the area change, and he looked up to see Danny in the dome, wandering over to the dining table.

“Morning,” he greeted everyone. “Try to let our guest here finish his breakfast before you start badgering him, okay?”

“Sorry Danny,” said the first girl with a sheepish smile.

“Don’t sweat it, Alicia,” he said, favouring her with a charismatic smile, causing the girl to flush red and look away. “By the way, you did a great job on the protest signs for tomorrow. Thank you, darlin’.”

Danny turned his attention to Sam, nodding a greeting. “So, I trust you’ve had your needs met, Al?” He spoke the name as though it didn’t fit. Which, Sam thought, was pretty perceptive of him.

Sam smiled up at the apparent leader of the place, and waved his fork. “Yes, I’ve been welcomed and been treated very well, thank you. This place is pretty relaxed, huh?”

Danny pulled up a chair, and sat across from Sam as a plate of eggs was presented to him by an older lady.

“Thank you, Clover,” he said to the woman with a wink, before looking back at Sam. “Yes, we’re all laid back and loose, Al, because we reject the buttoned-down work-a-day life.” He gestured around the dome with one hand, while picking up a fork with the other. “You’ll notice we don’t keep clocks around.”

“Yes, I had noticed that,” Sam mused. “I haven’t seen any mirrors, either.”

Which has been slightly inconvenient.

“All by design,” Danny said. “We trust one another with our appearance here. We do each other’s hair, paint each other’s faces…” he gestured to the pig-tailed girl with the flower on her cheek. “We don’t buy into the vanity of the material world. And as for the clocks? Timekeeping is a shackle of capitalist control. It keeps you stressed out and always afraid of losing it, wasting it. You burn it up to make money for the man, and then it’s all used up before you ever really live. We’re laid back here, ’cause our time is what we make it. Do you get me, Al?”

Sam nodded as he took in the words. “Yeah, I understand, I think,” he said, a smile tickling at his lips. “It’s an interesting perspective. You want people to use the time they have for themselves and their community rather than in service to someone else’s wallet. And you see clocks as a way of enforcing the system that oppresses the working class. Am I on the right track?”

“Exactly,” Danny agreed.

While Sam understood the sentiment, his leaps very often relied on reliable records of time—it certainly seemed that whatever he was here for wouldn’t have the benefit of such records. Pity.

Still, he wasn’t flying blind; all he’d need is a rudimentary sundial, the date, and his current location, and he’d be able to keep pretty accurate track. Then again, he didn’t know those two things just yet. He wasn’t even aware of the year, though his best guess at their location was somewhere in the southwest states, given the vegetation and climate.

“And what about you, spaceman?” Danny continued. “What’re your thoughts on time?”

Sam folded his arms, grinning. “Where would I even begin? You could say it’s a special area of mine.” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “But I think I’ll have to put a pin in that, Danny. Right now, I want to talk to you about some ideas I have. Which, ironically, are time-sensitive, because I won’t be around for long, I suspect.”

“Ideas?” Danny said as he brought a forkful of eggs to his mouth. “What kind of… ideas?”

“Ideas to help this place reach its potential,” Sam enthused. “Now, I have some thoughts about the children here. I met one of them, and found that he hasn’t been taught to read.

“I think that reading is one of the most important things someone can learn, because it’s a springboard to learning anything written in a book, see. So, I really think you should consider building a schoolhouse, and choosing a full time mentor for the kids, you know?” He gestured feverishly with his hands as he spoke, his fork waving in the air. “Because if you want the children here to flourish and reach their potential, you really need to give them the tools to do the things they want to do, and reading would open up so much of the world to them.”

As Sam finished his impassioned speech, he thought he heard some strange radio static ringing in his ears.

“School?” Danny narrowed his eyes. “I’m not opposed to kids learning, but I believe that no kid thrives in a classroom. They teach you to behave and assimilate into a society that chews ’em up and kills their creative spark.”

“I’m not talking about some kind of ‘conformity factory,’” Sam insisted, “I’m talking about giving the kids a leg up in their lives, and—”

“Look, I get the picture. I’m open to the idea, but I don’t like the thought of cooping up the little free spirits in a room to wither, you get me?”

“What’s that? Speak up, Sam.”

Sam furrowed his brow as he heard Al’s distorted, almost inaudible voice underneath Danny.

“I’m hearing other voices, I think,” it continued. “And I can’t see you at all.”

“Uh…” Sam said, eyes darting around. He stood from his seat, holding up a finger. “I’m sorry, but E.T. needs to, er, phone home. Would you excuse me for just a minute?”

He ignored the confused faces who had no idea what an E.T. was and why it would need to phone home, as he scurried out of the dome, following the voice of his friend.

“Bobby has a what? A thin mother? Okay, but how big are her—”

Bobby? Who’s Bobby? Who is he talking to?

“Al!” Sam cried as soon as he was outside the confines of the dome. “I’m here! Can you hear me?”

“What’s that?” Al asked, and Sam was able to see a faint flickering form standing between some bushes.

“I coulda swore you called my name…” the hologram said in a confused tone.

“I did call your name, Al. Hello…?”

“Well, anyway… yeah, Sam, you’re right.”

“Right about what?”

“Guy named Richard Deleon. He went missing when he got drafted—”

“You mean Richie?” Sam’s mouth drifted open as he realised the implications.

“—Only to turn up in a… in a drug? Oh, a drug raid. A drug raid on some hippie commune. Waited out the war in prison after that.”

“A drug raid? When does it happen?”

“Sam, It’s got nothing to do with your leap, at least according to Ziggy.”

“How could it have nothing to do with my leap, Al? It sounds like exactly the kind of thing—”

“What?” Al turned towards him, finally seeming to hear him. “Sam, I don’t know what you’re—”

“Al, I think that could be the key to this whole thing, you know?” Sam seized his opportunity to get through to Al, speaking at a hundred miles an hour in his excitement. “I’ve had so many different ideas about what I was meant to do. It’s been fun trying to figure it out, actually, but I never knew about the drug raid—”

“—Hey, slow down, alright?”

“Sorry, it’s just—I think I’m really going to make a difference in these kids’ lives, and—”

“What kids?”

“The ones that live here, Al. Oh, and I’ve been thinking about how to get the outhouse a little more hygienic, plus—”

“Outhouse? What the heck are you talking about?”

“It’s just over there.” Sam pointed towards the little shack with the big stench. “Can you not see me? What’s going on with the Imaging Chamber?”

“What? I thought I was talking to you.”

“You… you are. I’m right here.”

“Gooshie, something’s gone all funky again!”

“What kind of issue are you having, Al? Is there anything I can do? I want to help.”

“I don’t think we can keep this up any longer, Sam,” Al said with a regretful expression on his face. “I think Albuquerque’s about to have a brownout thanks to this. But I’m glad to hear you’re in a better mood. Take it easy, awright? I’ll be back when—”

And he disappeared.

Sam stroked his chin, baffled, as he processed the final words of his friend. Better mood?

Chapter 9

Fusion

“Well, I’m about done with this,” Al growled as he returned to the Control Room, where Donna, Gooshie, and Tina were looking exhausted. “We’ve gotta find out what’s interfering, because I’m not sure I had the least bit of a coherent conversation with Sam just now. Who knows how much he heard, but what I heard didn’t make a lick of sense. One moment he’s talkin’ about having a twin brother and the next, he’s talking about outhouses.”

Donna glared at him. “Outhouses?”

Al shrugged broadly. “Maybe I heard wrong, but that’s what it sounded like, ya know? Either Sam’s losing his damn mind, or the Imaging Chamber’s crossed wires with the phone line of a plumber.” He slapped a hand on the console. “Let’s figure this out, people. What do we know?”

“Well,” said Gooshie, loosening his collar, “when Ziggy locks on to Sam, she gets a secondary signal that she doesn’t know how to deal with. It’s splitting the hologram broadcast, so Doctor Beckett is only receiving partial optic and otic sensory input. And it seems that no matter the power usage, it’s not helping strengthen the connection.”

“Secondary signal…” Al muttered. “What kind of signal? We’ve never had something like that before, right? And how come I came in like normal at first?”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Donna lamented. “Ziggy insists that she can’t isolate one signal from the other. But at first, the second signal was weak enough that it didn’t matter.”

“Right, what else do we know?” Al continued. “We know Sam’s having some kind of meltdown, and the kid in the Waiting Room has a foot in the grave, and he’s not been making a whole lot of sense.”

“And his atoms are unstable,” Donna added.

“Right. That thing,” Al said, scratching his head. “What does it all mean?”

Tina crossed her arms, eyes wandering upward. “Is Ziggy super-duper positive that Doctor B’s there only to save his life in Vietnam?” she asked. “’Cause he sure got there early, didn’t he?”

“I’m running scenarios,” Ziggy said shortly. “So far I have not come upon anything outstanding, but I will notify you as soon as any relevant data comes up.”

“Thank you, Ziggy,” Gooshie said warmly up to the orb in the ceiling.

“And this thing with the twin brother,” Tina pressed, barely skipping a beat. “What was it you told Doctor B, Al? A drug raid?”

Al nodded. “Well, yeah. Richard’s gonna be arrested in a couple of days. But the guy fled the draft and joined a group of strung out hippies out in Arizona. He signed up for what he got, and the deed’s already done. He’s either gotta keep hiding out until the amnesty in ’77, or face up to his time in the Big House.”

“Outhouses…” Donna mumbled, wandering in the direction of the Waiting Room.

Al watched her with a frown for a moment, before returning his eyes toward Gooshie and Tina. “Look, you two work with Ziggy on this split signal issue. There has to be some way to cut out the interference, surely. If only we knew the source of the damned thing.”

He sighed, patting his jacket in the hopes of finding a cigar he hadn’t yet smoked. “You know, I can’t help but think there’s something we’re all missing.”

*        *        *

Doctor Donna Elesee-Beckett knocked cautiously on the Waiting Room door, nervously toying with her hair.

She didn’t need to knock; she had full access, like everyone else with top level clearance, but she made a point not to go in the Waiting Room on most occasions, since the occupant had Sam’s aura. It was just too eerie to interact with a person who looked exactly like her husband, with the voice of her husband, but was simultaneously a complete stranger.

But today, she just had a weird feeling.

The door slid open, revealing Verbena, who let out a startled noise when she saw who it was.

“Donna? Is something wrong?”

“May I come in?”

Verbena stepped aside. “Sure. What brings you here? I know it’s not your favourite place to be.”

Donna took a deep breath before stepping into the blue room and seeing the man in the bed, his face—Sam’s face—pallid and sticky with perspiration.

She hated to see him like this, and she fought the urge to scurry back out of the room.

“I just wanted to talk to… the patient,” she said quietly.

“Well, I’m afraid he’s not the most talkative guy, Donna.” She looked over at the bed. “Are you, Bobby?”

The man who looked like Sam rolled over, facing away from Verbena. “Stop it,” he moaned.

“See what I mean?” Verbena said, shooting Donna a wry look. “This is as far as I ever seem to be getting with him since the first few hours after he arrived. He seems to be upset that I’m calling him Bobby, but he hasn’t provided any other name. He’s just stonewalling me.”

Donna nodded. “And Al said something about LSD in his system?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that has anything to do with this, truth be told.” Verbena picked up his chart from the end of the bed, scanning an eye over it. “It wasn’t in a high enough concentration to be giving him any long-lasting effects.”

“Well,” Donna said, pressing her lips together as she decided on how to continue her thought, “something Al was saying made me wonder. See, this man is having issues on an atomic level. It’s like there are two configurations fighting over the same space.” She leaned in towards Verbena, whispering. “Bobby has a twin brother who’s going to be subject to a drug raid. The Imaging Chamber has a split signal. Al said Sam was babbling about outhouses or something of the sort. Bobby’s twin is a draft dodger who lives in a commune. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t this kid terrified of being sent to Vietnam earlier? And if he had LSD in his system too…”

Verbena’s eyes grew wide. “Are you saying that it’s not Bobby in that bed?”

“I’m saying that it’s not just Bobby.” Donna turned to the bed, clearing her throat. “Excuse me… Richard?”

Donna saw the Sam-shaped leapee stiffen at the name.

“Oh, Lordy,” Verbena whispered, as Donna nodded.

“Ugh…” Richard rolled back over, facing Donna with sunken eyes. “So you’ve figured me out. Are you gonna put me in jail?”

Donna placed a shaky hand on his. “I don’t have that authority,” she said, “but I’d like to know if… well, if you’ve seen or spoken to your brother lately?”

Richard frowned, averting his eyes from Donna, and he spent a long moment in silence formulating his reply.

“Sure. We talk all the time.”

“You do?” Donna was surprised by this answer.

“Yeah,” Richard said, closing his eyes. His voice slowed as he appeared to be drifting into sleep. “He’s my… ya know… accomplice. Better arrest him too, huh?” He yawned, and his neck relaxed as he began to fade.

Donna exchanged a look with Verbena.

“I don’t think that was the truth,” the psychiatrist said.

“Why’d he say it, then?” Donna asked.

“I think he’s trying to get his brother out of having to go to Vietnam.”

Donna fought the urge to laugh. “I guess he doesn’t quite realise they’re sharing that bed, then.”

“So…” Verbena said, mind racing, “if there are two people here, then what happened to Sam?”

Donna gestured to the sick leapee. “If the twins fused into one, then Sam must have—”

“Split into two?!”

“I’d better tell the others what we’re dealing with here,” Donna said, striding for the door.

Chapter 10

Suggestion Box

As the day progressed, Sam observed Brenda sneaking nips from her flask at regular intervals, and he began to realise that it might have been more of a problem for her than she’d been willing to admit.

But, on the other hand, it was of some benefit to him that she had spent the day on the tipsy side. She seemed not to notice his slip-ups as he clumsily navigated his way through his role as Bobby, and it made things a little easier on him. He decided to count it in his painfully short list of ‘things actually going right.’

By the time the afternoon came, the two of them were in the kitchen, with Sam chopping vegetables as Brenda prepared a beef roast.

Sam’s mood hadn’t improved, but he was doing a masterful job at hiding it as he forced a smile, scraping the chopped veggies into the oven tray around the meat.

“You know, you never helped me cook a roast before,” Brenda observed, roughly pouring marinade over the meat with a careless flick of her wrist. “What did I do to earn this?”

“Well, I just thought it was about time I started helping out a little,” Sam said, rinsing his hands off at the sink. If there was one thing that got him ticked off, it was men that thought they were above housework. He was going to raise the bar for Brenda. She didn’t have to put up with Bobby’s crap.

“Sure, sure,” Brenda said, laughing. “Now that you’re about to leave, you’re all about helping me, huh?”

She took up the glass of red wine she had been sipping at throughout the preparation, and took a generous drink from it.

“Ah, it’s not like that, Brenda,” Sam said defensively. “I just don’t want you to think you should just be expected to pick up the slack all the time. It’s okay to expect a little help once in a while.”

Brenda wiped her hands clean, and moved in close to Sam, sliding her hands over his body.

Here we go again, he thought grimly.

“Hold on, we need to get the food cooking, right?” he deflected, waving a hand towards the roasting tray still on the counter. “It’s gonna take a while so we’d better get it on now.”

Brenda planted a kiss on Sam’s lips before turning around. “Yeah, yeah. Yeesh, you spend a half hour in the kitchen and suddenly you’re tellin’ me how to cook.”

“I’m just your… assistant, that’s all. Here to help.”

Brenda giggled. “My big boy helper. So who’s gonna help me cook when you’re off at war, Bobby?” She bent over, loosely thrusting the tray into the oven, and stumbled as she righted herself. “And who’s gonna help me with the baby?”

“Baby?!” Sam took a step back. Al certainly hadn’t said anything about a baby. Surely he would have said something.

Brenda covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. “Oh, jeez. Bobby, I didn’t mean to tell you that way.” She moved her hands to her stomach. “I’m—I’m pregnant. Two months along. You’re gonna be a Daddy!”

Sam took a moment to compose himself, and forced a wide grin onto his face. “That’s… that’s great. Honey.” He extended a hand to her, placing it over hers on her belly and meeting her eyes, managing a genuine smile. But his eyes shifted to her wine glass on the counter, and the warm expression faded from his face. “Uh… maybe you’ve had enough to drink tonight, huh? It’s bad for the baby.”

“Bad for the baby? Says who?” Brenda said, narrowing her eyes.

Sam winced. It was 1970, wasn’t it? Fetal alcohol syndrome hadn’t been identified just yet.

“Says—says the military doctor I saw during training. That’s what he told me.”

Just believe me, dammit.

Brenda stepped back from him. “Why would a military doctor know anything about pregnancy?”

“He used to be an obstetrician, okay? Just trust me, it harms a developing baby if you consume alcohol. Any amount of alcohol. You need to go cold turkey, Brenda.”

Brenda stared him down for a moment, her face blank until the cogs in her mind finally began to turn and her expression soured.

“How could you?” Eyes filling with hot tears, she grabbed at her wine glass, furious. “I can’t believe you turned the fact we’re having a baby into some kind of commentary about my drinkin’. This was meant to be one of the happiest moments of our marriage!”

 “Are you kidding me?” Sam snapped. “I’m only trying to help you, and your baby. ”

“Oh, now it’s my baby?” Brenda threw her drink in Sam’s face. “Bobby Deleon, you truly are a fink!”

As the red wine cleared from Sam’s eyes and dripped to the floor, Brenda snatched up the open wine bottle, and stormed away out of the room. A moment later, a door slammed somewhere further in the house.

Sam wiped his face with his hand, groaning. Behold: his reward for trying to help; a face full of spite and tannins.

Guess I’ve learned my lesson, he thought, taking a cloth and rubbing himself dry. Why do I even bother?

*        *        *

Sam smiled at Marsha as she squeezed his hand, and the pair entered the dome. The many faces—perhaps thirty all up—of the communards of Moonstone Ranch turned to watch him, eyes lit up.

Danny had called a meeting, wherein there would be a communal discussion of Sam’s many ideas.

With his additional foreknowledge of the drug raid, he was sure that if he explained it right, he’d be able to convince everyone to dispose of their illegal substances. They saw him as some kind of messenger from the stars, so they would have to take him seriously.

Danny was waiting for him at the stage, sitting on a chair with his arms folded and a frown on his face as the congregants cheered Sam’s arrival.

Sam waved as he passed through the enthusiastic crowd and stepped onto the stage, leaving Marsha at the front of the group.

“Alright,” Danny said, standing from his seat, “Al here has some radical ideas for this place, and in the spirit of the commune, I’ve called this meeting so that we may discuss and vote on each proposal. As always, comrades: one person, one vote. That includes me and Al. No special treatment, even for star children.”

“That is entirely fair,” Sam said with a smile out at the crowd. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts, everyone.”

“First item of business, this schoolhouse idea of yours. Tell us more, Al.”

“Well,” Sam said, puffing up his chest, and making eye contact with Mike, who was standing against a woman Sam assumed to be the boy’s mother, “I know a lot of you are concerned about schools teaching children to conform to rigid social rules, but I believe that teaching children to read and write, and do basic mathematics, will give them the basis they need to really, uh, stick it to the man. After all, you can’t oppose a rule you can’t even read. Right?

“All I’m proposing is a classroom where the kids that live here can learn these things under the auspices of a volunteer teacher. Somewhere with books for the children to read, and desks to write on.”

Danny stepped forward. “My thoughts on classrooms are well-known,” he said, lighting a cigarette, “and so I’m proposing nixing the idea of a new structure. I think if the kids learn to read, that’s groovy—but don’t fence ’em in. Let them roam, I say. Do we have any other opinions, comrades?”

Marsha’s hand rose.

“Marsha has the floor,” Danny said, gesturing to her.

“Thanks, Danny,” Marsha said, turning to the crowd. “Listen, everybody. Al has come here from another world just to help humanity move into the next stage of human evolution, man. If he says we should do something, I say let’s do it!”

Cheers rose from the communards, and in the corner of Sam’s eye he saw the tip of Danny’s cigarette glow bright red as he inhaled.

“Listen,” said Danny, “I know this… star child visitation… is very exciting for you all, but I want you to decide with your logic, not just because one guy says so, you get me? We’re no damn Manson Family here.”

“Well, my logic says let’s do it,” Marsha persisted. “Education for the young’uns is something a lot of us have been talking about since kids started showin’ up here.”

“Right on!” cried one of the crowd as she rose a fist into the air. “Teach your children well!”

Then someone else broke out singing the Crosby, Stills & Nash song just name-dropped, and the singing voices soon grew to roughly half of the crowd.

“Alright, alright,” Danny shouted. “That’s enough. I see this is a passionate issue for many of you. I suppose we should vote on it, then.” He pointed to the far right of the stage. “Al, you stand over there, and I’ll go to the opposite side. All those opposed to the proposal, move to my side and all those for the classroom, you go to Al’s side.”

He held up his arm. “Now split!”

Sam beamed with pride as he watched the vast majority of the communards shift to his side of the dome, leaving only seven audience members with Danny.

“Well, looks like that’s settled,” Danny said, sighing. “Next item, Al?”

Sam stepped back to the centre as the crowd reformed as a mass.

“Well, I have a few small improvements regarding hygiene in the kitchen and outhouses…”

Chapter 11

Unconvinced

The communal meeting progressed swimmingly, with the majority in favour of all of Sam’s proposals.

When he’d explained the scientific concepts behind a hydroelectric generator, they seemed riveted by his breadth of knowledge, and Sam began to see more and more of the people here start to look at him with eyes full of childlike wonder.

“Now,” he said, after exhausting the rest of his plans, “I have one last proposal, and it’s going to seem a little extreme…”

Danny lit a new cigarette. “Oh, this ought to be good,” he muttered.

“Well, the thing is…” Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he chose his words. “I have reason to believe this place might be the target of a police raid for drugs in the near future.”

Danny blew a smoke ring. “Say what?”

“And that’s why I think we need to clear this place of all substances before then.”

“Before when?” Danny asked, eyes narrowed.

“I—uh, I don’t know exactly,” he said, then met Danny’s gaze with a smirk. “Timekeeping’s a shackle of capitalist control.”

“Are you a narc, Al?” Danny said, tobacco smoke wisping around his face as he studied the other man.

“Danny!” Marsha snapped. “How could you ask that? I don’t wanna give them up, but if Al says we’re gonna be busted, it would be a bummer if we ignored the warning and it came to pass. We’ll all end up in the slammer! And the only thing we’ll be trippin’ on in there is the pigs.”

“I’m not a narc, alright?” Sam said, raising his hands defensively. “I’m trying to help this place become sustainable and a safe place to live. And we can’t do that if everyone’s been carted off in a paddy wagon, now can we?”

Danny frowned. “Listen man, we don’t want this place to change so much that it becomes unrecognisable. And our culture is built on personal choice for what we put in our bodies. You can’t just ask us to ditch the dope like that.”

Sam tilted his head. “Well, this is a democracy, isn’t it?” He turned to the crowd. “Shall we take a vote?”

Danny stepped forward. “Okay. But remember, comrades: use your logic. There’s no proof that Al here actually knows the future, you dig?”

“No, but…” Sam shrugged, “if there’s even a chance I’m right, do you want to risk it? I don’t want to see this place collapse due to something preventable, do you?”

A murmur swept through the crowd.

“Alright, people. Split!” Danny announced, and the room once again divided, this time much more even than before.

After a moment, only one person remained in the centre, still undecided. It was Alicia, the girl with the flower painted on her cheek.

Danny counted the numbers on each side, before throwing his spent cigarette to the floor and stepping on it.

Sam hoped that would be the last time he’d smoke indoors, as that had been one of his proposals for improving the air quality of the dome.

“Looks like we’ve got a tie,” he said, looking pointedly at the pigtailed girl. “Alicia babe, you’re the deciding vote.”

Alicia bit her lip, looking from Danny to Sam and back. “Can… can I have time to think it over?”

“No sweat, darlin’. We’ll reconvene after we get back from the march tomorrow. You make sure to have your answer, alright?”

“March?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. We’re going into town for an anti-war march. You gonna come along, or have you decided that supporting war is gonna be our new official position here?”

Sam’s face brightened as he realised he’d have a chance to gather some supplies to put his ideas into practice.

“Sure, I can come. Can you spare some—uh—‘scratch,’ so I can pick up some components while we’re there?”

Danny extended his hands. “The bread pool is for everyone, Al. Just speak with Jasper, he’s our treasurer.” He pointed to a man Sam recognised as the older man that had called him an ‘Ascended Master’ the night prior.

“Thanks,” Sam said, and moved to approach the man. Danny held out a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“Listen spaceman, before you do that, might I have a word in private?” he said quietly.

“Sure,” Sam said, and allowed Danny to lead him by the arm to an exit at the back of the stage, leading to the breezy twilight.

As the door closed behind them, Danny’s neutral expression dropped into a frown.

“What’s your game, Richie?” he hissed.

“Uh…” Sam said, caught off-guard by the hostility. “Game? What game?”

“Oh, gimme a damn break, Richie. What is this act? How the hell did you convince Marsha to go along with this charade of yours?” He jabbed a finger into Sam’s chest. “Why are you doing this?”

Sam blinked a few times as he processed the barrage of accusations. “Uh. Look, I guarantee you I haven’t intentionally lied to you even once,” he hedged. “I’m not playing games with you. Honest. My ideas are all genuine attempts to improve this place.”

“You realise you’re gonna turn this place into an uptight, authoritarian shithole, don’t you? Who told you you could come in and screw with everything I’ve built here? Who do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Danny,” Sam said, moving back to create a safer distance between himself and the fuming man. “But you said it yourself… it’s majority rule, and these people have voted to implement my ideas.”

“Not all of them,” Danny grumbled, “and I intend to keep it that way. Listen up, Al. You can pretend to be some kind of psychic alien, and Lord knows some of these idiots will believe it with all their gullible little hearts, but you and I both know that’s a great big load of hooey, don’t we?”

Sam looked sincerely into Danny’s eyes. “Whether you think I’m from outer space or not… I’m just doing what I think is the right thing. I promise.”

Danny closed in on Sam, drawing his face in, mere inches from his. “Watch your damn step, spaceman. ’Cause I don’t intend to hand this place over to you so easily.”

Danny turned on his heel and stormed back into the dome, leaving Sam open-mouthed. He had been sure he and Danny had been engaged in a good-natured tête-à-tête until now. Had he said something wrong?

Well, he thought, he’d just have to win him over. He had a pretty good track record of talking things out, if he remembered correctly. Everyone here respected Danny. If he could get through to him, then the rest would be a cakewalk.

He was sure all of this was just a misunderstanding.

*        *        *

By the time the roast was done cooking, Sam leaned into the master bedroom to check up on Brenda, only to find her slumped in an awkward position on the bed, cradling a wine bottle in her arms like a baby. It was a different one than he’d last seen her with, and he wondered where she was keeping them, as he hadn’t seen her creeping around since she’d blown up at him earlier.

“Brenda?” As much as he didn’t want to, he figured he’d better make sure she was okay.

Brenda responded to his call with a groan.

Sam moved to the bedside, and gently tugged on the bottle in an attempt to remove it from her grip, but she tightened her hold on it.

“No,” she mumbled, eyes half opening. “Don’t take it.”

“I don’t even think there’s anything left in here,” he argued. “It’s just an empty bottle.” He tried pulling it again, causing Brenda to feebly slap at his hand.

“I dun care,” Brenda slurred. “Get lost, Bobby.”

Frowning, Sam let go of the bottle, and set about repositioning Brenda’s slack body so that she’d be safer to sleep. She resisted at first, but as he rolled her on her side, she gave up on that plan and let him tilt her head back.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” he whispered in her ear. “I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.”

I wonder if I sounded as insincere as it felt to say that.

“If you wake up hungry later, the roast will be in the fridge. Okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Brenda replied, her eyes still firmly shut.

“You’re not even gonna remember I said this,” he muttered as he headed back out of the room. Shaking his head, he realised he was going to have another sleepless night keeping an eye on her.

Something has to give here. I’m gonna lose it.

Chapter 12

On The Road

Another enjoyable night of good cheer with friendly hippies passed Sam by, and he awoke in the morning with the lingering scent of marijuana in his hair and painted stars smudged on his face. Well, he assumed they’d smudged while he slept, but given he didn’t have a mirror to check it out, he didn’t know for sure. All he knew was that he’d felt them being painted on, and everyone had described them as ‘far out.’

He’d been unable to get Danny alone to talk, which had been a shame, so he simply tried to show that he was invested in the community by getting to know as many of them as possible.

Sam washed away the cobwebs with a brisk shower, and sat down to breakfast in the dome among a greater volume of people than the previous day. Marsha was already at the table, waiting for his presence by minding a seat beside her.

“Morning, Al!” she greeted with a generous smile.

“Morning,” Sam replied, and gave the others at the table a wave. “I see everyone’s excited about this march we’re going to.”

“Oh, we’ve been planning it a while now,” Marsha said between bites of oatmeal. “So we’re all stoked. The bus is loaded with supplies and we’re going as soon as breakfast is over.” She took his hand. “Will you be marching with us? You’re against unjust wars, ain’t you? Richie wasn’t gonna go at all—I’m not sure why.”

A plate of oatmeal appeared in front of Sam, and he looked up at Clover, the cook, with a smile. “Thank you.” He returned his gaze to Marsha, as he considered whether he should. “Well, I have a lot of supplies to find, but maybe I can march a little while before I peel off.” He nodded. “I do think the war is a terrible waste of life. And we’re going to lose, but not before… well, a whole lot more unnecessary bloodshed.”

He stirred the oatmeal as he thought about all the young men forced to fight in a war that meant nothing. Losing their lives in horrible ways, or arriving home with serious physical and mental injuries. He felt his throat constrict with emotion.

“I just don’t know why there has to be so much suffering,” he murmured, followed closely by a shaky sigh. “I wish everyone could just understand one another and get along.”

“Right on,” Marsha whispered, putting her arm over his shoulders. “I bet your advanced society is long past the need for war—right?”

“If only,” Sam managed to choke out, before filling his mouth with oatmeal to cover up his uncontrolled emotional response.

This is unlike me, he realised as he struggled to bear the weight of his feelings. It usually takes a lot more for me to fall apart like this.

Perhaps, he thought, it was the influence of this peaceful society that was causing him to be over-reactive to the mere thought of violence. Though that explanation didn’t really ring true.

Something was up with him. He’d felt it from the very beginning of the leap. And he couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Al having so much trouble getting through to him. He began to wonder if something had altered his brainwaves enough for the Imaging Chamber to fail to properly connect.

But he was still Sam. Wasn’t he? Just… not quite right. Off-balance in some way he couldn’t quite define.

He finished his breakfast in silence, lost in thought about the unusual nature of the leap.

Before he knew it, he was being ushered to what looked like a former school bus that had been painted in psychedelia.

The sight of it was enough to draw him out of his thoughts and smile as his eye wandered over the wheeled mural, where faces and hands morphed into words and stars and moons and crystals and clouds. Bold black lines filled in with bright pinks and blues and yellows. This was not a bus that would go unnoticed, certainly.

He climbed onto the bus, and shared a front seat with Marsha, while Danny sat in the back row among four women Sam had come to recognise as his multi-partner relationship. Had he been Al, he might have called it a harem.

“So, uh,” Sam said as the bus began its journey, and the radio began to play Jefferson Airplane, “where are we actually going?”

Sam still didn’t have any good ideas of where this commune was located beyond his assumption that it was a southwest state.

Marsha grinned. “Somewhere there’s a major military presence so we can really get in their faces,” she said. “San Diego.”

“We’re in California?”

Marsha shook her head. “Not for another half hour or so.”

So either the commune’s in Mexico, or it’s in Arizona.

Soon, when Sam saw a sign for Yuma, it seemed to confirm the latter.

Well, that’s one mystery solved.

*        *        *

Sam nudged at Brenda’s sleeping form, causing her to roll over onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.

She was out of the danger zone for alcohol poisoning, but now she was hurtling toward hangover town at full speed.

“Brenda. Listen,” he said in as soothing a voice as he could muster. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday. I should have broached the topic more delicately.”

She turned her head, looking at him through bloodshot eyes. “Damn right you should’ve. Now would you get me my hangover cure, please?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll give you aspirin and water. Okay? Water.”

Brenda’s face grew stormy, and she returned it to the pillow.

“Jerk,” came her muffled response.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. If it wasn’t for an innocent child in the mix, he would have just let her keep pickling her organs. He really didn’t much like this woman, but the baby didn’t deserve this kind of punishment.

“Brenda, I’ve poured all the booze down the sink,” he announced. “Okay? I can’t watch you do this to our baby.” He made sure to say ‘our’ this time. “It can cause birth defects, if the pregnancy even gets that far.”

A muffled scream emanated from Brenda’s prone form, before she rose to all-fours and turned her frigid gaze to Sam.

“You bastard,” she spat as she stumbled off the bed to a standing position. “You complete and utter bastard! You can’t take away the only thing keeping me going. The only thing that’ll still be here for me when you—”

She pushed past Sam, covering her mouth, and made a beeline for the bathroom.

“Dammit, Brenda!” Sam called. “Just listen to me, for god’s sake!”

The only response was the distinct sound of vomiting in the toilet.

I don’t think that’s morning sickness, Sam thought, shaking his head.

He decided at that moment that he had to get out of this house. It was driving him bananas being cooped up with this volatile alcoholic.

Brenda would be down and out for a good portion of the day, it looked like. Then again, she’d probably end up looking to replenish her lost stash. But at this point, he just couldn’t face another minute with her.

He headed out of the front door, and stretched as he took in the morning sun, yawning deeply as his body reacted to its precious little sleep. He realised, as he looked upon the lawn, that it had been a full day since Al had last shown up.

Despite telling Al not to come back until the problem was fixed, he found himself yearning for someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t going to throw wine in his face or call him a bastard.

And then there was the churning anxiety within that wouldn’t leave him alone. He felt unmoored and aimless. And he just wanted to get away from Bobby’s depressing life.

So he got into Bobby’s Chevy and started driving. He cranked up the radio and let the road take him where it would.

Chapter 13

On The Run

It was after eleven in the morning when the march began. The busload of anti-war protesters spilled onto Broadway without warning, and spread out across the westbound lane, causing traffic to come to a standstill.

This quickly caused honks to start to blare from the obstructed cars, and pedestrians on the side of the road to stop and stare at the multi-coloured group with their slogan signs, fronted by a woman with a kazoo in her mouth and a bullhorn to amplify its decidedly annoying noises. Sam was near the back of the group, walking beside Marsha, who held a sign proclaiming: ‘Hell no! We won’t go!’

Sam felt surprisingly at-ease for the situation he’d fallen into. Even though he knew this wasn’t going to accomplish a thing, and they were putting themselves at great risk of being arrested, it was as though he was channelling the energy of the people around him. He felt like he was just where he needed to be.

“Get the hell out of here, hippie scum!” cried a man from the side of the road. He stepped down off the kerb and began shouting obscenities at the protesters. Sam didn’t know quite why, but he looked familiar. He slowed, looking the middle-aged man up and down. He couldn’t pick it, but he definitely felt like he’d met the guy before.

When the man locked eyes with Sam, they widened, and he rubbed at them in apparent confusion.

“Bobby?” the man said. “What in the hell are you doing with these damn peaceniks? You don’t belong with them!”

Bobby?

Sam exchanged a puzzled look with Marsha. He didn’t know why he’d just been called Bobby, but for some reason it rang a bell—just enough to want to follow his curiosity.

“Listen,” he said in her ear, “I’ll, uh, catch up with you later, okay?”

Marsha nodded. “Okay, Al. We’re meeting back at the bus at sundown, okay?”

“Got it.”

Sam wove his way out of the protest and approached the heckler.

“Sorry, but who are you?”

The man grabbed him by the arm, pulling him towards the sidewalk.

“Bobby, it’s me, kid!” he said with some hurt in his voice. “Harvey! What the hell did these dropouts do to you? Did they brainwash you? And what are you wearing?” He used his free arm to pull at Sam’s open vest and beads. “You’re not running off or something?!”

Sam furrowed his brow. “I think you have me confused with someone else, okay?” He pried Harvey’s fingers off his arm. “Listen, I appreciate your concern—I do! But I don’t know you. Whoever Bobby is, it isn’t me.”

Harvey leaned in close. “Have you been taking… you know… drugs?”

Sam frowned. “No, actually. I haven’t. But I don’t see how that’s your business, honestly. I’m not who you think I am, I promise.”

“Nonsense,” Harvey continued, and redoubled his grasp on Sam’s arm, pulling him along the pavement in the opposite direction of the march. “I’m takin’ you home, awright?”

“Hey… come on, let me go,” Sam said. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

And as Harvey roughly yanked his arm, Sam began to realise that this was usually when he would defend himself—but he had absolutely no will to fight back.

There really is something the matter with me, isn’t there?

And at that moment, a white Chevrolet Corvair pulled up, and the door swung open. A burly man jumped out, slid over the hood, and threw a heavy punch into Harvey’s shoulder.

“Oww!” Harvey shouted, letting go of Sam.

“That was for the other night, Harvey. If you can actually recall that you tried to punch me in the face,” the unknown man said, pointing a finger in a way that Sam found familiar.

Harvey then got a look at his assailant’s face, and went pale as he looked between him and Sam. “Bobby, I—”

“Harvey, listen to me,” the man—Bobby, apparently—said, “tell anyone you saw him and it’ll be your face next, understand?”

Harvey nodded dumbly.

“Okay. Now get lost.” Bobby pointed down the road. “Go!”

Harvey gave a final, confused look at Sam, and turned to leave.

“Uh, thank you,” Sam said to the blond-haired rescuer.

“Are you out of your mind, Richard?” Bobby hissed. “Get in the car before anyone else recognises you.”

Sam tensed up and nodded silently, opening the car door and sliding into the seat without protest.

Bobby jumped into the driver’s seat and peeled back onto the street. The car filled with the heavy chords of Helter Skelter, which Sam found terribly distracting.

“I don’t know why you’d show up here and draw so much attention to yourself,” Bobby said, eyeing his clothes. “Pretty careless.”

“And, uh, why wouldn’t I want to attract attention?” he asked, trying to gauge who this person was to Richie.

“Maybe because you’re a fugitive,” Bobby said with a smirk. “But if you need to blend in, you’ve got the right face for it. I’ll lend you some clothes.”

Fugitive? It was then that he connected the dots to what Al had stated, about Richie fleeing the draft.

“I knew you’d have something to do with why I’m here,” Bobby added under his breath, and Sam raised an eyebrow at the wording.

“Uh. Thanks for saving me there, I guess,” he said as his eyes fell upon the rear view mirror.

A mirror! Finally!

He tilted it towards him and felt his heart skip a beat as he gazed upon the same face as the one in the driver’s seat beside him. Square jaw, dirty blond hair, sharp widow’s peak. So that was why Harvey had called him Bobby. They were clearly closely related, and probably twins.

“Oh boy,” he whispered, causing the man beside him to give him a funny look.

“You know, I don’t know why I came this way,” Richie’s doppelgänger said. “When I got stuck behind that protest, I was getting pretty frustrated. And I kept saying to myself, ‘just turn onto another street already.’ But something stopped me. And then there you were.” He snorted, giving Sam a tired-eyed glance. “Why did you come here, Richard?”

“Well, that’s pretty fortuitous,” Sam said. “But I came because I needed—”

“You needed to visit your brother before he got shipped off to war, perhaps never to return?”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “You’re going to war?”

The twin raised an eyebrow. “How could you not know that? We both got drafted at the same time, didn’t we?”

“Oh, right,” Sam said quietly. “When do you ship out?”

“Just a few days now. You really didn’t know?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “I was here because of the protest,” he said. “But now that I know you’re shipping out, I’m really glad I could see you. I’m so sorry. Where I’m living, there’s not a lot of—uh—external stimuli.”

“Oh, right. The commune,” Bobby muttered.

Sam barely noticed the remark, instead turning his attention to the radio, which was getting on his nerves. He turned the dial until he found Bridge Over Troubled Water playing on another station, and left it there.

“Why did you change that?” Bobby demanded. “I was listening to that!”

“It was too angry,” Sam said, folding his arms.

“Well maybe I’m angry and I wanna listen to something angry.” Bobby turned it back.

“Why are you angry?”

Bobby gripped the steering wheel tightly with one hand, and began gesturing animatedly with the other. “Well, I’m about to go fight and maybe die in a pointless war, to start off. Oh, and get this: Brenda’s pregnant, and she hates me because I told her to stop drinking. Can you believe that?”

“But alcohol is harmful for a developing fetus!” Sam said, horrified.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her, but the damn research on the topic won’t be published for another—” he shook his head, “—never mind.”

Sam raised a curious brow at this, but the angry guitars were bothering him too much to really pay it any mind, and he reached for the radio dial again.

“Hey, no you don’t! Not again!” Bobby reached over and slapped away Sam’s hand.

It was at that moment, both twins found themselves looking at Sam Beckett.

“Oh boy,” they both said at once.

Chapter 14

Polarity

The Sam at the steering wheel wrenched his eyes from the Sam in the passenger seat just long enough to make an emergency turn to a side street, coming to a stop at the gutter. He pried his trembling hands from the steering wheel and pulled the handbrake, returning his gaze to his double, hoping that he had just been seeing things.

No such luck.

“How…?” was all his lookalike passenger could say as the two of them shared a deer-in-headlights stare.

Sam reached out a finger and poked the other him, proving that he was indeed solid and not going anywhere.

“I don’t have a twin, do I?” he said, still not really comprehending why he was looking at himself.

“Uh-uh,” the other Sam said, slowly shaking his head. “Meaning we’re both…”

“Sam?” they said in unison. Together, they broke the eye contact, pinching the bridge of their noses in an almost choreographed fashion, as they tried to work out just what had transpired.

And as their minds raced, they began to think aloud, in a strange synchronised back-and-forth that seemed to prove conclusively that they were indeed the same person.

“I’ve been feeling—”

“—Sort of off? Incomplete?”

“Yeah, and Al’s been—”

“—Having problems getting through to me…”

“Which must be because Ziggy can’t—”

“—Isolate my brain wave signal, because—”

“—I leaped into two people—”

“—Simultaneously…”

“But how is that possible?”

It was as though they shared the same train of thought in this moment, but in the next, the Sam in the passenger seat said something that broke the synchronisation and left the Sam in the driver seat glaring in hot anger.

“This is incredible! Do you understand what this means?” His double grabbed at his shoulder, buzzing with excitement. “We can help twice as many people!”

“What? No!” Sam snapped, and rubbed his tired eyes. “God, no wonder I’ve been so exhausted and cranky. I’ve been spread too thin—literally! It’s—it’s like it doesn’t matter how many lives I make better, mine just keeps getting worse.”

The other Sam cocked his head, giving him a wide-eyed, puzzled look that wouldn’t have been out of place on a puppy. “What are you talking about? This is an amazing opportunity. How could you be me and not want to make a difference in peoples’ lives?”

Sam clenched his teeth. “Oh, sure. Like I did with Bobby’s wife? All I did was drive her further into the bottle!” He dragged a hand down his chin. “Have you ever thought that maybe people don’t want my help? I try to do a good thing, and all I get for my trouble is a blast of wine in my damn face. I’m sick of being the one who suffers every time I try and do the right thing.”

He shook his head, mouth twisted into a joyless smirk. “Don’t you get it? Leaping is nothing more than a slow torture, like Prometheus getting his liver devoured every day. It’s some kind of a punishment by whoever’s controlling our leaps. I don’t know what we did to tick ’em off, but they’re sitting back with some popcorn and laughing at us right now—I guarantee it.”

Hippie Sam was silent a moment, studying Sam’s face with a curious, but sad, look.

“I was wondering where my bitterness went,” he finally said. “I guess you got it all.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah, well, you seemed pretty happy to see me when I got Harvey off your case.”

“You didn’t have to hit him.”

“Oh please—it was only his arm,” scoffed Sam. “I leaped in the other night with his fist flying at my face, so I think he got off pretty lightly. I certainly wanted to do worse.”

“Well, I’m glad you have a modicum of restraint.” The double shifted in his seat. “It’s Richie, by the way.”

“What?”

“He goes by Richie, not Richard.” Hippie Sam opened his mouth to say more, but hesitated.

“Okay…” Sam squinted, wondering where this was going. “Good to know, I guess.”

“But, well, everyone at the commune calls me—” he cleared his throat, “—Al.”

“I’m sorry—what?” Sam glared at his other self, incredulous. “Why?”

Hippie Sam chuckled nervously. “It’s kind of a long story, but they saw me leap in—I think it was because they were all on LSD at the time—and they decided I’m a ‘walk-in’ from another planet, and they asked me my name at the same time I thought I heard Al, and so…”

“So they thought you answered the question with Al’s name?”

Hippie Sam nodded sheepishly. “And now they think I’m here to usher in a new age for mankind.”

“That’s… that’s a new one.” Sam felt his cheeks flush with jealousy. “Jesus…”

“No, they don’t think I’m Jesus,” Hippie Sam continued, seeming to have missed that the outburst was nothing but an expression. “At least I don’t think so. Still, yes, it’s a little weird, I admit. But I’m putting the unusual situation to good use; to improve the place. We’re gonna build a classroom for the kids so they can learn to read and write!” He beamed.

“Well, isn’t that lucky for you,” Sam said, voice dripping with envy and sarcasm. His doppelgänger, however, didn’t seem to notice the tone at all.

“It really was, you know—and the people there are so cooperative and industrious,” he enthused. “You know how hippies were always written off as layabouts who just wanted to do drugs all day? Well, it’s not like that at all! Sure, they work on a different clock to the rest of society, and they do ingest pretty remarkable amounts of narcotics, but you should see the geodesic dome they built… it’s beautiful. I just know we’re gonna do amazing things. I hope I don’t leap out too soon.”

I can’t be this oblivious, can I?

“Okay,” Sam said, and started up the car again. “Well, listen—if you plan on wandering around downtown, you should get some of my clothes on. That way, if anyone recognises you, they’ll think you’re Bobby. Just remember to go along with it if they say anything to you.”

“R-right. Thanks. Sam.”

“I should probably check on Brenda anyway,” Sam decided, imagining what desperate measures she might be taking in his absence. “She’s probably got her head in the laundry hamper, sucking on my shirt for the remnants of the red wine she threw at me last night or something.”

*        *        *

“Status, Ziggy?” Al asked, returning from a rest he’d desperately needed.

The team had been working themselves half to death trying to come up with an answer to the problem of the Imaging Chamber. Even with the knowledge that Sam was in two people, they still didn’t have the solution to the split signal.

Ziggy had finally pinged him about twenty minutes prior, and he’d scoffed down a meal before racing to the elevator with his shirt still half untucked. Now he was struggling with it as he approached the main console, where only Tina stood. Evidently, the others had lost their battle with fatigue and gone to bed. And he didn’t blame them. None of them had gotten nearly enough sleep in the past few days.

“I have good news, Admiral,” Ziggy said sweetly, “I have obtained a complete signal for you. You may now enter the Imaging Chamber.”

“Ziggy, I could kiss you,” he said brightly up at the orb. “Only you don’t have lips.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you, Admiral,” Ziggy said dispassionately.

“Well, I guess you’ll do, huh?” Al said to Tina, who smirked back at him, saying a clear ‘yes’ with her eyes. He pulled her into a sensual embrace and locked lips with her just long enough that his sense of duty to Sam emerged and dragged him off her again. He winked at her, and headed for the Imaging Chamber.

The moment he entered, he saw that he was in Bobby’s living room, where Sam sat on the couch, looking up at him without a smile.

“Al, it’s about time you got here.”

“Sam! Oh my god, you’ll never guess what we found out!” he cried. “You leaped into two people! Ain’t that a kick in the butt? Ziggy was completely stumped, and it was D—uh, the team that figured it out based on pure deduction.” He winced at how close he’d come to mentioning Donna. “But Ziggy’s finally managed to fix the hologram problem, I guess, and…”

He paused a moment, noting that Sam hadn’t reacted to his bombshell and was merely looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sam? Can you hear me?”

“Oh, I can hear you, Al,” Sam said, and looked to a spot in the room behind Al.

The sound of a throat clearing made Al spin around.

“I can hear you too,” said the other Sam, grinning. He was leaning casually against the mantle with his arms folded.

“Oh.” Al stepped back, fixing both Sams in his eye-line, and gave them a sheepish look. “No wonder Ziggy had a solid signal. And she made me think it was her doing, that no-good bucket of bolts.” He smacked his handlink. “How the hell’d did you two find each other, anyway?! I never gave away where either of you were, did I?”

The two Sams exchanged a look, and both opened their mouths to answer what they must have thought was going to be the same reply, but it wasn’t.

“Dumb luck,” said one of them.

At the same time, the other said, “Someone up there likes us.”

They then looked at one another with frowns, as if they disagreed with the other’s assessment.

“Oh boy, this is giving me the willies,” Al remarked, feeling a shiver go up his spine. “Which of you is which, anyway?”

The Sam on the couch was the first to answer. “I’m Bobby, and he’s Richie.”

“To avoid confusion,” said the Sam against the mantle, “I say I should be Sam A and he can be Sam B.”

“I told you, no!” the Sam on the couch snapped. “I don’t want to be Sam B!”

“But you’re in Bobby. B for Bobby.”

“You’re in Richie, so shouldn’t you be Sam R?”

“No, the people at the commune call me Al, so I’m Sam A.”

Al did a double take at this. “They call you Al?”

“Long story. Anyway it makes perfect sense that I’d be Sam A.”

Sam B scowled. “Only on a technicality.”

Al shook his head violently. “Okay, that’s enough. It doesn’t matter that much. Jeez, why do I feel like you two are a couple of bickering kids? What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t think we split evenly,” said Sam A, gesturing to Sam B on the couch. “He’s got all the worst parts of me, I think.”

Sam B rose to his feet angrily. “The worst parts? You mean the realist parts.” He turned to Al. “This guy has his head in the clouds, Al. You know he showed up in town with his hippie pals, doing an anti-war march down the middle of Broadway, wearing extremely conspicuous clothes, without even considering that he’s a wanted man?”

“At least I’m actually doing my job helping people,” Sam A said in a decidedly calmer manner. “This guy’s practically given up. Bobby’s wife is a pregnant alcoholic, and he doesn’t even care that she’s probably out getting drunk right now, ’cause she sure isn’t here at the house.”

Al frowned. “Pregnant?”

“I tried, okay?! I told her what could happen,” Sam B argued. “But I’m not even here for that—right Al?”

Al was busy tapping at his handlink, querying Ziggy about the apparent pregnancy.

He paled as he saw the results.

“Uh-oh.”

“What ‘uh-oh’?” asked both Sams in unison.

“Ziggy never picked up on this, ’cause she didn’t connect it to Bobby,” he said. “It happened after he already died in ’Nam, so she figured there was nothing he coulda done. Brenda miscarried, four months into the pregnancy. I guess maybe the booze might’ve had something to do with it.”

The pair of Sams exchanged a grim look.

Sam B let out a frustrated groan. “I guess we’d better go find her.”

Chapter 15

Mister Perfect

Back in Bobby’s Chevy, Sam B started up the engine, with Sam A once again riding shotgun—despite his protestations that Sam B was “probably reckless enough to get us both killed.”

Sam A was now clothed in a blue button-down and khakis, which looked almost the same as Sam B’s ensemble, though his shirt was more of a sea foam green. The important thing was that he was unremarkable, and that he looked exactly like Bobby.

Sam B still didn’t like the naming convention, and was trying to view his assigned letter as representing ‘Beckett,’ rather than any other implication. It wasn’t particularly working.

With a whirring sound, Al blinked into existence in the back seat of the car.

“Did you find her?” Sam A asked him, as his counterpart began to reverse out of the driveway.

“Yeah, I found her. She’s having home-made margaritas with her girlfriend a mile or two southwest of here.”

“Of course she is,” Sam B grumbled. “How the hell am I supposed to talk her out of what’s clearly an addiction in a couple of days? And even if I can sober her up now, it’s not like Bobby’s gonna be around to watch her like a hawk throughout the pregnancy.”

“Hang a left here, Sam.” Al took a long drag from his cigar before punching a few buttons on the handlink. “Well, Ziggy’s revised odds are that there’s a coin flip as to whether you’re here for the baby, or here to prevent Bobby’s death.”

Sam B, despite himself, brightened at this. “So you’re saying if I can get Brenda sober enough to carry the pregnancy to term, then I might leap out of here before I get sent to my doom?”

“It’s a possibility,” Al agreed. “Take the next right and then a left at the next intersection after that.”

“Well that can’t be right,” Sam A chimed in. “You can’t just leap out of Bobby knowing he’ll get killed soon, surely?”

“Better him than me,” Sam B muttered.

“Well, let’s look at this rationally,” Al said, “seeing as the two of you seem a little compromised in that department right now. If Sam B can prevent the miscarriage, and you don’t leap, then you know that you’re here to prevent Bobby’s death, plus he’ll have a kid waiting for him when he comes home. And if you do leap, at least you’ll have carried on Bobby’s family line, right? Oh—when you get to the T-intersection at the end of this street, turn right and head straight for a mile.”

“That would make sense for a typical leap,” Sam B said, shaking his head, “but we have a slight complication.” He gestured a hand towards Sam A. “What’s he here for? If I don’t leap, it might be because of him.”

“Is it to do with the drug bust you mentioned yesterday?” asked Sam A.

Al studied the handlink a moment, and nodded. “Yeah, probably. The whole commune shut down after the raid, since most of the adults living there got a prison sentence. And Richie had the added bonus of draft dodging, along with a few others.”

“I can’t let that happen,” Sam A lamented. “I need to talk to Alicia; she’s the deciding vote.”

“Deciding vote?” Al asked.

“Yeah,” said Sam A. “Yesterday the commune voted on all my proposals for improvements. The only one not to pass was my suggestion to trash all of the illegal substances—it tied, with one undecided vote. She was given a day to think about it, and there’ll be a new vote tonight when we all get back.”

“Really?” Sam B was astonished. “Half of a hippie commune agreed to ditch their drugs?!”

“Sure. A psychic alien in their midst had a mysterious vision of the future,” Sam A said, grinning, and turned his eye to Al again. “I never found out when the raid’s supposed to happen, by the way.”

“Oh… hang on a sec.” Al tapped his query into the handlink, and looked up as it bleeped in response. “The twentieth, at about ten at night.”

“And what’s today?” Sam A asked, eliciting a stare from both Sam B and Al.

“You’ve been here two days and you don’t even know the date?” Al asked, incredulous.

“I don’t even know the exact year,” Sam A said, shaking his head and chuckling. “I’ve been really, really isolated, okay? I didn’t even get a look at my reflection until today.”

“For real?” Al said in disbelief. “Boy, you’ve really been slumming it, huh? It’s May seventeenth, 1970, Sam.”

Sam A gave a contemplative nod. “Only three days to go…”

“That’s also Bobby’s deployment date,” Sam B supplied grimly.

“A pivotal day for both of us, then.”

“Here it is,” Al said, gesturing to a house that looked just like all the others. Sam B pulled the car to the side of the road, and the three of them took in the house.

“So what’s the plan here?” Sam A asked.

Sam B pulled the keys out of the ignition, his jaw set. “You wait here and I’ll try and talk some sense into her.” He opened the door and climbed out.

“I think Brenda and her pal are already half way to blitzed, so you need to be tactful,” Al warned.

Sam A got out of the car and hurried to join his twin. “I don’t think I trust you to pull this off. Let me do it.”

“You’ve never even met Brenda,” Sam B said with a frown. “And besides, I’m the husband, not you. I think she hates Richie, truth be told.”

“You know as well as I do it doesn’t matter if I’ve met someone before. I can still make a difference—we do it all the time!” Sam A grabbed his other half firmly by the shoulder. “And what Brenda needs right now is someone who’ll listen. Who’ll empathise with her. Let me talk to her.”

Sam B rolled his eyes. “Fine. Frankly, I didn’t want to talk to her anyway. But listen, I don’t know this friend of hers. She might try and turn Richie in if she knows it’s you.” He pulled his wedding band off, and handed it to Sam A. “Pretend to be Bobby, and I’ll wait in the car. You can take the margarita to the face if you want—suit yourself.”

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Al remarked, coming up behind the pair. “Now hop to it, alright? Before they see the bottom of another glass.”

Sam A slid the ring onto his finger, and Sam B returned to the car, watching his double covertly through the back seat window. Sam A approached the door and knocked, with Al standing beside him for coaching.

Sam B watched as a woman he didn’t recognise answered the door, her face stony. He watched as his alter-ego gave some kind of impassioned speech to her, taking her by the hand delicately, and gazing into her eyes.

He watched as the woman retreated into the house, only for Brenda to emerge onto the doorstep, her arms crossed. He watched Sam A extend a gentle hand to Brenda’s stomach as he made his case, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

He watched Brenda’s facade melt away, replaced by tears—but not the furious tears of spite that Sam B had experienced. She began to weep, and allowed his double to wrap his arms around her tenderly as she cried into his shoulder.

Then, as he guided her towards the car, Al centred himself in the back seat with Sam B.

“Well, that was a roaring success,” Al said. “Guess Sam A had the right idea. All she needed was a soft touch.”

“I can do a soft touch,” Sam B said defensively. “In fact I was perfectly soft before she showered me with Chianti yesterday.”

Al just gave him an unconvinced look as Sam A and Brenda reached the car.

Jeez, even Al has no faith in me? He frowned as he began to wonder if maybe he really did get all the bad parts of the whole. If that’s true, then… what’s the point of me?

Brenda opened the passenger door, and peered inside, towards Sam B. The breeze from the open door brought with it the strong scent of tequila.

“Hello, Richie…” she said, taking her seat. “So you’ve come to rub it in our faces that you get to stay on home soil while Bobby’s fighting for our country?”

Sam B rolled his eyes, and opened his mouth to give a cutting remark in reply, but checked himself when he saw the warning expression from both Al and Sam A.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Brenda,” he said coldly instead, narrowing his eyes.

“Boy, you could cut this tension with a knife,” Al said, chuckling nervously. “Well, try to get along. I’m gonna go talk to… to Gooshie.” He gave Sam B a look that might have been worry before turning his attention to the handlink.

He opened the Imaging Chamber door, and scurried away into the white light, leaving Sam B wishing he could follow and escape with him. Because hell—if Mister Perfect here had everything under control, then maybe he was supposed to do it all anyway.

Chapter 16

Tipping the Scales

Several Minutes Earlier…

Sam A and Al stood at the door to Brenda’s girlfriend’s house, as Sam prepared to knock at it.

“You sure you can handle this?” Al asked with a worried frown.

Sam nodded. “Of course I can. Just needs a soft, caring approach. Trust me, I’ve dealt with this kind of thing lots of times, haven’t I?” He knocked on the door and adjusted his posture in anticipation.

“Well, that may be, but you were never half of yourself before.”

“Just relax, Al—I’ve got this,” Sam whispered confidently as the door creaked open, revealing a tall woman with a big scowl on her face.

“This must be the friend,” Al provided. “Name’s Jenny.”

“Oh. It’s you,” the woman said icily.

“Hi, Jenny. Is Brenda here? I—”

“Brenda doesn’t want to talk to you right now.” She moved to shut the door, but Sam placed a hand on the door, pushing back with a gentle but firm force.

“Wait… please,” Sam said softly, “I know I screwed up, and I’m here to make it up to Brenda. Please, give me just a couple minutes. I promise I’ll leave if you ask me to after that, but if I can just have two minutes…”

He reached out, grasping her hand, and giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

“I only have a few days until I go to a war zone, you know? I don’t know if I’ll make it home, and I can’t just leave this rift between my wife and I as it is. I want to do all I can to mend things while I still have the chance. For her, and for our child.”

Sam could see Jenny’s frosty expression melt before his eyes, and she sighed, nodding. “Okay. I’ll get her. Just wait here.”

“Thank you, Jenny,” he said, letting go of her hand and wiping the moisture from his eyes as she went further into the house.

“Well, okay then,” Al said, an impressed look on his face. “I guess you do got this.”

Sam flashed him a smile. “I told you. Mister Grouch over in the car there has all the bad parts of my personality.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Al mumbled as Brenda appeared in the doorway, frowning. “Here’s the Missus, Sam.”

“What the hell do you want?” she spat, as the smell of alcohol filled the general vicinity. “I came here to get away from you, Bobby. And I told Jenny I didn’t want to see you. I don’t know what you said to her, but…”

She trailed off as Sam placed a hand on her stomach.

“Brenda, I’m so sorry if I made it seem like I wasn’t ecstatic about our baby.” He drew his mouth into a smile. “I’m truly thrilled, and I’m positive you’re going to make an amazing mother. And the harsh words I said—well, I was being a jerk, and I want to make it up to you. I don’t want what might be our last days together to be spent fighting.”

Brenda wobbled on her feet, sniffling as she drank in his words. “Neither do I, but…” she started as her lip quivered, “you really hurt me, Bobby.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” Sam said, holding her tightly as she collapsed into his arms. He ran fingers through her hair in a soothing way, letting her sob for a moment.

When he felt the time was right, he continued. “Hey. You’ll never guess who came to visit.”

“Who?” came Brenda’s muffled murmur, from the depths of his embrace.

“Richie. He’s in the car.”

Brenda pulled back, looking Sam in the eye. “He actually came?” She leaned past him, looking to the car. “Oh my god, there he is. I can hardly believe it. I was sure he’d abandoned us all.”

Sam chuckled. “Guess not. You wanna come back home? We can all talk.”

Brenda heaved a sigh, and nodded. “Okay… I guess I don’t want to be the one unaccounted for this time.”

“Nice goin’, Sam!” Al commended. “I’ll go let the other one know.” He tapped a few buttons on the handlink before vanishing from the doorstep, and reappearing in the car next to Sam B.

As he escorted Brenda to the car, Sam A couldn’t help but smile widely. It was like there was nothing he couldn’t accomplish. Certainly, there was still work to do with Brenda, but he knew he could do it. Everything would fall into place. He’d do it all.

Back at the car, he glimpsed his counterpart’s sulking face, and wondered if that part of himself had been extracted on purpose by the powers that be. Maybe he’d outgrown it, and he’d be unburdened by such negativity in the future. That sounded just fine to him; a favour, really.

*        *        *

“Hey, Verbena, you got a minute?” Al asked as he poked a head into the Waiting Room.

Verbena was sitting next to the two-in-one twins, who was hunched over on the side of the hospital bed. She looked up to him with a curious look.

“Well, Bobby’s just finished telling me about his wife, so I guess I can spare a moment.”

Al raised an eyebrow. “Bobby?”

Verbena nodded, and climbed off the bed, lowering her voice as she approached the door. “Yes, he seems to be the current personality, though there isn’t a clear delineation between the two of them. He seemed to slide from one to the other over several minutes of conversation. He was quite confused about it.”

“Well, that’s almost as weird as what I just witnessed,” Al said grimly. He shut the Waiting Room door as the two of them emerged into the corridor. “Sam didn’t just get copy pasted into two people. His personality got split down the middle—” Al demonstrated by chopping down with his hand, “—and now he’s… he’s Doctor Beckyll and Mister Hyde.”

Verbena’s eyes were wide. “What do you mean, exactly?”

“Well, I told you that he was having a crisis before, right? The one who leaped into Bobby. He’s about ready to throw in the towel on leaping, and he’s Debbie Downer all the time.”

Verbena nodded, folding her arms. “And the other one? Who leaped into Richard?”

“Oh, Sam A—that’s what he decided to call himself—you know, he’s in a great mood, but… I dunno, somethin’ about him is bothering me.” Al pulled an unlit cigar from his jacket and began passing it from hand to hand nervously. “He’s way too gung-ho about everything; over-confident, I guess. Thinks he can take on the world. I don’t think either one of them are a hundred percent all there, if you get me.”

“Hmm.” Verbena furrowed her brow and looked into the distance. “So Sam’s psyche has separated into two distinct sides of his personality. It almost sounds like the id and superego.”

Al stared blankly at her. “This is why I hate talkin’ to shrinks. I don’t know what they’re going on about half the time.”

Verbena smirked. “Like the angel and devil on your shoulder.”

“Like in cartoons?”

“Not that cut and dry, but a little like that,” Verbena said with a chuckle. “From what you’ve told me, it seems as though one of him is more self-interested, while the other has lofty idealism. Both the id and superego are essential aspects of the human condition, but they are supposed to balance out, with the ego making the ultimate call. If it’s true that he’s had them separated from each other, then I certainly worry about the both of them.”

Al pursed his lips, scratching his head with the cigar between his fingers. “What do you think we should do about it?”

“Well, you need to act as the ego,” Verbena said, as if it was the most obvious of solutions. “You have to be the one to tell him when he’s going too far or doing the wrong thing. I mean, them.”

“Well, there’s only one problem there, Beeksy,” Al said, jabbing the cigar towards her. “We’ve only been able to get a working signal with the both of them in the same place together, but Ziggy’s got them with two different goals in two different states. I can’t keep tabs on ’em if they’re gonna be apart.”

Verbena grimaced. “I really wish I knew what to do about that little hitch,” she said with a deep sigh. “But they’re together now, right? You should get back in there while you can. Remember: you have to be the moral compass, especially for the half in Bobby. So… knowing you… please try not to encourage too much debauchery, okay?”

“Too much—?!” Al scoffed. “There’s no such thing, Verbena!”

Chapter 17

Shell Game

Sam A opened the front door of Bobby’s home, letting Brenda wander inside unsteadily, and turned to Sam B with a smug look. Or, at least, that’s how Sam B saw it.

“How long are we supposed to keep up this charade?” he whispered.

“Well, that all depends,” Sam A shot back. “You wanna take it from here, or do you want to go downtown and find the supplies I came here to pick up?”

“What supplies?”

“Well, the commune has a stream that flows through the ranch, and I’m building a hydroelectric turbine to reduce reliance on fossil fuels for the generator, and it’ll reduce carbon emissions, which I’m sure Al would approve of.” He smirked. “You know what parts to get, don’t you?”

Sam B narrowed his eyes. “What, you think you got all our brains too? Of course I do!”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Relax.” Sam A reached to him, patting his shoulder. It was probably meant to be reassuring, but it felt condescending instead.

“I haven’t relaxed a day since I stepped into the Accelerator,” Sam B hissed, and marched into the house.

Brenda was reclining on the couch, her shoulders slumped as she frowned up at him.

“What’s with the getup, anyway?” she asked, eyeing his clothing. “Bobby said you were living on a commune, right? You look a little straight-laced for that.”

Sam B flicked a glance to Sam A, who was entering the house. “I’m incognito. Bobby figured if I dress like him, nobody’ll notice that I’m the missing twin.”

“So those are Bobby’s clothes,” Brenda said with a dawning understanding.

“Well, I won’t be needing them for a while, right?” Sam A said a little too cheerfully as he moved to sit beside Brenda on the couch. He put an affectionate arm over her shoulder and whispered into her ear. She nodded in response to whatever he’d said, and the two of them looked up at Sam B.

“Guess you get to be one of the first to know that we’re having a baby,” Sam A said with a surreptitious wink.

He’s really enjoying torturing me, isn’t he?

“Oh, that’s great,” Sam B said in a less-than-enthusiastic tone. “Congratulations.”

Brenda frowned. “You could at least pretend to be happy for us.”

“Oh, I am,” he said defensively. “So. So happy. For you.”

“Richie loves kids, you know,” Sam A said smoothly. “Back at the commune, he’s working on building a classroom for the children there. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah,” Sam B said, making close eye contact with his other half. Like he knew anything about this classroom. “Nothing better than kids learning.”

Brenda seemed to sense the tension in the room, and stood from the couch.

“I’m gonna go make us some lunch,” she said, and headed to the kitchen, tripping over her own feet as she went.

“You wanna switch clothes while she’s gone?” Sam A asked, his hands moving to the top button of his shirt.

“Why?” Sam B asked flatly. “You seem to be handling all this. I might as well go get your supplies.”

And maybe I won’t come back, he thought. It started out as a stray idea, but he wondered if it was possible to just… kind of take the place of Richie. After all, setting up a water wheel at a hippie commune sounded a hell of a lot more relaxing than going to Vietnam.

Never mind what the real Bobby and Richie thought about it.

But, he decided, it was best not to bring that up just now.

“Well, if you say so,” Sam A said with a shrug. “But we need to switch back by sundown. The bus leaves then and I can’t miss it.”

“No sweat,” Sam B said.

“No sweat?” asked Al, who emerged from his glowing doorway at that moment. “What no sweat?”

Sam gestured to his blithesome twin. “Mister Perfect here is sending me on his errands. You know where I can find electrical supplies around here, Al? And I’ll need some strong magnets, too. And tubing. Maybe bicycle wheels? A junkyard would be a good start.”

“Hold on,” Al said, smacking his handlink in the side. “I’ll ask Ziggy. But I’m glad to see you’re getting along better with, uh, yourself.”

“Not really,” confessed Sam B. “I just want to get out of here. Scavenging for parts sounds like a lot less effort than this… domestic purgatory.” He gestured to Sam A. “He can deal with Miss Margarita in the kitchen.”

“My pleasure,” Sam A said gleefully. “Like I said before: soft touch. Trust me, I know exactly how to finesse this situation.”

“God, am I normally as smug as this, Al?” Sam B asked. “Because if I am, I’m sorry. It’s insufferable.”

“Well, I for one am sorry if I complain as much as he does,” Sam A said.

“Oh boy, you’re both gettin’ on my nerves in different ways, okay?” Al admitted. “You know what, the two of you might be better off spending some time apart.”

“No argument from me,” both Sams said in unison.

*        *        *

“How are you feeling, Bobby?” asked Verbena as she returned for her umpteenth check-in with her patient lying limp in the bed.

The unstable twin, wearing Sam’s face, rubbed a shaky hand over his moist brow.

“A little less tunnel vision, ma’am,” he said politely, his voice punctuated by cautious outward breaths. “But other than that, no change.”

“I’m glad you haven’t gotten any worse. This is something you’ll have to ride out, I fear.”

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked, gazing up at her with fearful eyes. “Will I be fit to serve?”

“That remains to be seen, soldier,” Verbena said, giving him a ghost of a smile. “You have a rare illness, which I’m confident will resolve with bed rest.”

Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was the best she was going to be able to give him at this point. Ziggy’s best estimation was that once Sam leaped, the twins would return to their natural, separated states, and the sickness would clear up. So this was nothing more than a waiting game. She just hoped things wouldn’t deteriorate.

“But don’t worry about that, okay?” she continued. “Tell me more about yourself. You have a twin brother, right?”

Bobby looked away, his face souring. “Yeah. Richie’s a real piece of work.”

“Doesn’t sound like you get along with him.”

“Well, I haven’t even seen him since we both got drafted. He just left. Asked me to come with him, but I’m not a coward, dammit.”

Verbena nodded in sympathy. “Did he tell you where he was going?”

Bobby shook his head. “Nah. He left with some girl he met at a party, said it was somewhere he could disappear, but that’s all he told anyone. I figured he probably crossed the border.” Bobby licked his lips, suddenly looking unsure of himself. “Or maybe he went east.”

“East?”

“Yeah. Like into Arizona. Joined up with some commune, or…” he shook his head. “I don’t know, man. That old ranch seems like the kind of place he could hide out a while.”

“What ranch?”

“Moonstone Ranch.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know where he went.” Verbena tilted her head as Bobby’s face clouded with confusion.

“I… I don’t.”

“So how do you know about Moonstone Ranch?” Verbena pressed.

“Marsha told me.”

“Who’s Marsha?”

“Weren’t you listening? She’s the one who invited me to the commune.”

Verbena squinted. “Invited you?”

Bobby paused a moment, mouth ajar. “No, Richie. Invited Richie.” He went pale in the face. “I think I’m gonna…”

Verbena handed him a sick bag, and he promptly filled it. As he recovered, he took deep breaths, his brow heavy over his eyes. And a moment later, he looked up with a frown.

“Marsha… I never met her, but—” he squeezed his eyes shut. “Why do I know she has a tattoo of a peace sign on her butt?”

Verbena wasn’t sure how to answer this truthfully, so she concocted a response that would have made her psychiatry professors blanch.

“Well, you know, sometimes twins can share a psychic bond. You might be experiencing some kind of telepathic communication with your brother.”

Bobby glared at her, clearly unconvinced. “What kind of a doctor are you anyway?”

Verbena grinned at the incredulous man who looked like her boss, but was actually two identical twins occupying the same space at once because of God or Time or Fate’s meddling in a grand time travel experiment.

“One who’s about as open minded as they get.”

Chapter 18

Diplomacy

“So, Richie, which is it?” Brenda said as the twin Sams ate their lunch, each trying not to look at one another. “Did you come here to see off Bobby, or rub it in his face that you’re gonna be safe while he risks his neck?”

Across the kitchen, Al was watching the Sams with a concentrated stare, nervously sucking on a cigar while he observed the conversation.

Similarly, Sam A watched on with concern—how was his negatively charged counterpart going to answer this? Sam B’s face went through a series of emotions, before he finally took a deep breath.

“Well, Brenda, I was actually here to participate in a protest march. It was entirely by chance that he spotted me on the street.” He took a bite of the salad on his fork.

Okay, Sam A thought, that’s not so bad.

Brenda scoffed. “A protest march? Could you be any more insulting to your own brother?”

“Hey, now come on, that’s not fair,” Sam A interjected, eager to defend the purpose of the protest. “If there was no war, then I wouldn’t have to risk my life, now would I? My brother is just lookin’ out for me. Now surely there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Brenda glared at him, clearly surprised by his excusing of Richie’s actions. “You really believe that? You told me he was just being a coward, hiding away from his patriotic duty.” She jabbed a fork at Sam B. “And we wouldn’t be at war if those commies weren’t trying to take over.”

“Take over Vietnam. What business is it of America’s anyway?” Sam B grumbled. “It’s just throwing a bunch of innocent, working class men into a meat grinder for nothing.” He looked pointedly at Al. “And those that survive are gonna be suffering the consequences for the rest of their damn lives. And for what? So-called freedom? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you can really be considered ‘free’ if you have to choose between mandatory military service or a prison cell.”

Al winced at the heated rant. “I think you’d better watch your mouth there, Sam…”

Brenda slammed down her fork. “What are you saying, Richie? You hate this country? You hate your brother for fighting for it?”

“Hey…” Sam A said in a soothing tone. “He’s entitled to his opinion. No need to—”

“How can you put up with this disrespect, Bobby?” she demanded. “He’s saying you’re going over there for nothing!”

He kinda has a point, though, he thought, and was considering whether or not to say it when he saw Al shaking his head.

“This is not a productive conversation,” he said, apparently to both of them at once. “Brenda’s gonna flip her lid in a minute, and you don’t want that if you still intend to save the baby, now do you?”

Sam B dropped his gaze to the remnants of his meal. “It wasn’t disrespect. It was love for a brother.”

Sam A licked his lips, knowing that his double was talking about Tom. And even though he recalled saving his older brother from his demise, he still also remembered a time when he’d never returned from the war.

“Okay, I think that’s enough political talk for now,” he said, throwing up his hands and trying to ignore the painful emotion that had swelled in his chest. He flashed Brenda a tight-lipped smile. “Richie, you’re leaving in a minute, right? I’ll walk you out.”

Sam B nodded. “Thank you, Bobby.” He gave a polite, but brusque nod to Brenda. “Thank you for the meal, Brenda. And good luck with your baby. I hope it’s born healthy.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but Al gave him the glower to end all glowers.

The two Sams headed out to the doorstep, with Al following closely behind.

“Well, I sure hope that Brenda and Bobby’s tenuous reconciliation didn’t just unravel,” Sam A muttered. “You probably should learn when to be quiet.”

Sam B rolled his eyes. “Oh, would you cut it out? Why do you have to act so untouchable, huh?”

“Why do you have to put your foot in your mouth all the time? She’s clearly got a hot temper, so why would you stoke the fire like that?”

“Well, if you’ll recall, I’m set to be killed in less than a week, so I’m maybe a little passionate about the issue.”

“Hey!” Al shouted at the top of his lungs, causing both Sams to shut their mouths and look at him. He adjusted his suit jacket and glared at the two of them. “Cool it, you two, or I’ll leap back here myself and kick your identical behinds.”

The Sams exchanged an amused glance.

“Now, you—” Al pointed a finger at Sam B, “—get going. I’ll come with you; Ziggy should be able to help you find what you need. And as for you—” he pointed to Sam A, “—well, I hope you’re right that you can convince Boozy Brenda to give up the hooch. But you don’t have long to win her over.”

“Leave it to me,” Sam A said, crossing his arms as Sam B headed to Bobby’s car. Al transported his holographic body into the passenger’s seat, and he waved to Sam A as the pair of them left.

Sam A headed back into the house.

Alright, time to save a baby.

*        *        *

As Donna headed back to the Control Room after her restless sleep, she noticed Verbena waiting by the main console. As she approached, the psychiatrist gave her a pointed look.

“What is it?” asked Donna. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing wrong. Just need a quick word, if you have the time. It regards the twins, and the Imaging Chamber.”

Donna raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Well,” Verbena said, furrowing her brow, “I was thinking about how for the first couple of hours into the leap, Al was able to get a good signal for the Sam who’d leaped into Bobby. At the same time, our guest in the Waiting Room was identifying as Bobby. I was wondering if the two could be connected?”

“Huh,” Donna said quietly. That was a connection she’d missed. “You’re saying that the signal strength for each twin may be defined by how much of them is currently presenting?”

Verbena nodded. “And I also wonder if the LSD might have been what was suppressing Richie at first.”

She might be on to something there.

Donna grinned, patting Verbena on the arm. “Good thinking! Let me check that with Ziggy.” She placed her palm on Ziggy’s activation panel. “Ziggy?”

“Yes, Doctor Elesee?” Ziggy’s voice boomed from the ceiling.

“Would you mind running the odds on—”

“Doctor Beeks’s hypothesis about the link between the Deleon twins and the functionality of the Imaging Chamber?”

“Precisely.” Donna suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at the disinterested tone Ziggy was giving her.

“I can predict with a ninety-four point eight percent probability that testing the idea will prove fruitful. Of course, the two aspects of Doctor Beckett will need to be further than fifty miles apart from one another to attain proper results in such a test. Currently, they are four miles apart, meaning that the Imaging Chamber has a largely solid link with both halves.”

“Wait, they’re that close?” Donna asked. “Nobody told me that. I take it Al’s been able to speak to the both of them?”

Verbena smirked. “They were both already together when he got there, Donna. And he says they’re at each other’s throats.”

“Why?!” That didn’t sound like Sam at all.

Verbena put an arm around Donna’s shoulders. “Let me explain to you about the ego, id, and superego…”

Chapter 19

Soft Touch

“I can’t believe you defended him,” Brenda snapped as soon as Sam A entered the house. She was standing by the couch, giving him a death stare. “You made me feel like the bad guy. I never should have come home.”

Damage control, Sam thought. A setback, sure. But nothing I can’t handle.

“Brenda, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching a hand to her. “I’ve had my disagreements with Richie, sure. But we’re still family. I didn’t want to drive him away.” He brushed his fingers across her hair. “And I don’t want to drive you away either. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Brenda crossed her arms, evading his gaze. “I don’t know, Bobby. You’ve been a real jerk.”

“I know I have,” Sam said. “I probably said all the wrong things at the wrong time, didn’t I? I didn’t think before speaking.”

This was his assessment of Sam B in general, from what he’d seen. Brash, unfiltered. Rude. He could hardly believe he had it in him to act that way, but there it was, in flesh and blood: everything about him that held him back from reaching his potential. All wrapped up in a package that looked and sounded just like him.

“I promise you, Brenda, that I care deeply about you and our baby. And I’d like the chance to talk it out, if that’s okay.” He took a seat on the couch, and patted the cushion beside him. “Come on, sit down. I know you have feelings you’ve bottled up. I’d like to be a sympathetic ear for you. No judgement.”

Brenda cautiously sat, leaving a generous gap between herself and Sam. “I don’t really know what you mean…”

Sam wasn’t entirely sure either, he had to admit. He just had a strange feeling, like he knew something about Brenda that he couldn’t pinpoint. It was not unlike the feeling Sam B had described from when he was driving behind the protest march, or when Sam A had laid eyes on Harvey.

“I’m days from going to war, Brenda,” he began. “I might not return. Or I might return a different man than when I left.”

Almost certainly.

“And you’ll be carrying a baby all that time, on your own. And then you’ll give birth alone.” He placed a hand on her knee. “How are you feeling about all of this?”

Brenda looked down at her fidgeting hands. “What does it matter? You’ll be the one fighting for the country. Getting shot at. That’s all that matters.”

“Brenda…” Sam’s hand moved from her knee to her hands. “Your feelings matter to me.”

Her eyes lifted and met his, and their eye contact lingered for a moment, before her eyes became clouded with tears, and she wrenched her gaze away, a trembling hand rising to her face.

“I guess I’m scared,” she said. “Scared of you leaving. But it’s selfish of me to think that way, so forget it!”

I knew I was onto something.

“It’s not selfish, honey,” Sam said softly, shifting himself closer to her. “Your feelings are perfectly valid. You’re afraid of facing the future alone, right?”

Brenda wiped her eyes, nodding. “I don’t know how to raise a baby. And—and what if you die? I’ll be all alone with a child, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

“I understand.” Sam wrapped an arm around her. “I do. The draft lottery messed up a lot of peoples’ plans for the future, and the uncertainty is causing a lot of people to worry. And for good reason. For better or worse, people are going to die or come back with injuries and mental health struggles. And one of them might be me.”

Brenda nodded, covering her mouth as she began to sob.

“It must be so hard to deal with the prospect of having to raise a child on your own. So hard that you need something to calm the nerves, right?” Sam was not immune from the emotion, and he brushed a tear from his own eye. “And so, the only thing that’s helping you to cope…”

…Is the alcohol.

“Okay, I admit it.” Brenda collapsed into his chest, weeping. “It makes things less painful,” she sobbed. “Not as… real. I don’t know how to… to face the day… without drinkin’… it hurts too much…”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, patting her on the back gently. “It’s alright. Shh.”

As he comforted the crying woman, he smiled through his own tears, knowing he’d reached the heart of the matter. Now he just needed to figure out how to rectify the problem.

But even if he did… Sam B could still ruin everything.

It wasn’t as though he could just take over Bobby’s life. He had work to do on the commune.

No, I can’t stay here. But maybe Al could make sure Sam B does what he needs to do. I won’t need his help; I’ve got everything under control.

As Sam idly combed fingers through Brenda’s hair, his racing mind rapidly played out various ideas about how to help this troubled woman and the life growing inside her. And he found himself feeling quite riveted by his situation, as bizarre as it was proving to be.

He looked up to the heavens, smirking. You’ve certainly thrown me a curveball here, but I can’t say I’m not intrigued by all of this. It’s like a complex jigsaw puzzle I have to solve—highly stimulating. I just hope the other side of me doesn’t mess everything up.

*        *        *

Nervously adjusting the collar of her dress, Donna accompanied Verbena as she returned to the patient. She was fascinated by the idea that Bobby and Richard could have a variably blended mind, and wanted to see it for herself.

She hung back near the Waiting Room door as Doctor Beeks did her usual medical checks upon the merged twins. After several minutes of tests, Verbena took a seat at the end of the bed.

“Are you feeling any different, Mister Deleon?” she asked. Donna wondered if she had intentionally omitted calling him by a first name.

The patient moaned. “I dunno, man. My head hurts. I can’t think straight.”

“And your stomach?”

“Feels like I just smoked bad hash.”

Verbena shot a momentary smirk at Donna, before returning her eyes to the man in the bed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Richard.”

“It’s Richie.”

“Oh, I see,” Verbena said, smiling down at him. “Richie. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your brother. Bobby.”

“I don’t know where he is, okay?” Richie said quickly, rubbing his eyes. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

“I don’t need to know where he is, Richie. I just wanted to know how you feel about him, that’s all. I’m just curious.”

“How I feel about him?” he squinted at her with clear suspicion. “Why?”

Verbena chuckled. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you both. And this has nothing to do with the draft. Cross my heart.” She drew an ‘X’ over her chest with her fingers.

Richie’s head rolled to one side. “Well, I dunno what this is supposed to accomplish, but… I love my brother, ya dig? I don’t want him to get forced into fighting in some war that doesn’t even make any sense. What if he dies?”

Verbena nodded. “I understand.”

“But he’s also kind of an ass.”

“Go on…” Verbena met Donna’s eye with amusement.

Richie sighed deeply. “Well, for a start, he despises everything I stand for. I’m against what America is doing, and he thinks I’m some kinda traitor for it. Because of that, I was too scared to tell him where I was going when I went to hide ’cause I thought he might rat me out.” He laughed bitterly. “Looks like you found me anyway, so that was pointless.”

“You really thought your twin brother would turn you in?”

“Well…” Richie frowned. “I wasn’t gonna risk it. I mean, he was angry enough that I never contacted him.”

The corners of Verbena’s lips curved ever-so-slightly upward, and she winked at Donna. “How do you know he was angry if you never contacted him?”

Richie’s face clouded over. “Of course he would have been angry.”

“But you said it as if you knew,” Verbena observed. “Were you planning to say goodbye to him before he was deployed?”

Richie shook his head. “I didn’t know he was going on the twentieth. If I’d known, then maybe I would have called him or something. But I can’t show my face back in San Diego…”

Donna frowned as she began to realise that Richie knew things that he wouldn’t know unless there was some bleed-over coming from Bobby.

“But don’t you live in San Diego, Bobby?” Verbena asked, eyes returning to Donna, who raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in address.

“Well yeah, but—” the man in the bed furrowed his brow. “Wait, do I?” He rubbed his forehead.

“You live with your wife, right? Brenda?”

“Yeah. Brenda. I really love Brenda.” The man—now seemingly Bobby—closed his eyes. “My head hurts.”

“Okay, Bobby. You get some rest.” Verbena stood, and strode across the room to Donna.

“That was… really something,” Donna said, eyes wide. “You can talk him from one side to the other?”

Verbena grinned. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“You’re amazing, Doctor Beeks,” Donna gushed. “This is going to help Sam so much.”

She leaned to the psychiatrist, and pulled her into a tight hug. Now, just maybe, this terrible leap might start to improve.

Chapter 20

Junk in the Trunk

Sam B was actually pretty impressed with how much cash his counterpart had come to town with. He didn’t really associate communes with wealth, but he supposed they weren’t really spending much of it, so maybe it had piled up… from wherever they were getting it.

With Al’s help, he’d managed to get most of what he needed, and was now rummaging through a junkyard, sweat dripping from his brow.

He had, at first, considered bicycle wheels for the turbine, but was reconsidering their utility in water; they would probably rust up pretty fast. But now, he’d come upon a pair of old wooden wagon wheels, which he thought was probably perfect.

Al was twiddling a cigar between his fingers, standing part way inside the hood of a car as he watched on intently.

Sam had felt the hologram’s eyes on him much more acutely than usual, and he was beginning to wonder if Sam A had asked him to do this.

It seemed clear that neither his twin nor Al had any trust in his ability to complete the leap. They weren’t exactly keeping it a secret—after all, Al was here with him, and not back at the house. It was hard not to feel resentful of the scrutiny.

“Sun’s getting low,” Al said, as Sam set about hauling the large wheels to the car, and loaded them into the trunk.

“I can see that,” he said flatly, grunting as he struggled to get the objects in. They didn’t fit well, and he ended up strapping down the lid. “I’m finished, okay?”

He let out a breath as he collapsed into the driver’s seat of the car. Al was already waiting for him inside, and casually blowing smoke from his lips.

“You’ve done well today, Sam,” he said cheerfully. “Real normal kinda afternoon, except the token complaints.”

Sam turned the ignition, shooting Al a look. “Gee, it’s good to know I’m capable of behaving within acceptable parameters while shopping. Makes me feel real good about myself.” As he drove away, he added with some vitriol: “Think I’ll become a real boy if I keep this up, Jiminy Cricket?”

“Aw, Sam,” Al said, scratching his head, “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed like I’m treatin’ you like you’re a kid or something. It’s just Verbena told me I had to make sure you didn’t follow your worst instincts, that’s all.”

Sam snorted. “Having my morals kept in check by the world’s foremost philanderer, huh? That sounds like a recipe for disaster if you ask me.”

“Well, I’m pleased to report you haven’t yet done the horizontal tango with anybody,” Al said with a shrug. “Though it might help you unwind.” He tilted his head, looking into the distance. “But you know, it doesn’t have to be horizontal. You’d be surprised just how many angles you can—”

“Al, cut it out.” Sam shook his head in exasperation. “I’m split in half, not merged with you again. Just because Verbena thinks I got the ‘id’ doesn’t mean I’m going to turn into Sam Calavicci all of a sudden.”

Al let out a laugh. “Well, you know, you do have a sex drive, don’t you? It had to go somewhere, right? But you won’t even entertain the idea of sleeping with your own wife.”

“She’s not my wife! Anyway, maybe Mister Perfect got my libido.” Sam screwed up his nose. “I hope he hasn’t got the hots for Brenda…”

“Well, even if he does, I don’t think he’d act on it.”

“Why? Because he got all my morals?” Sam slammed a hand onto the steering wheel. “He didn’t, you know. I know right from wrong and I’m perfectly capable of doing good.”

“I never said you weren’t, Sam.” Al had a look of concern etched into his face as he watched Sam drive.

“And yet, here you are, keeping tabs on me. You haven’t checked on Sam A since I left the house. Admit it, Al—you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you, kid. Believe me, there’s nobody I trust more! Even with half of your personality out to lunch.” Al dragged a hand down his face. “Look Sam, here’s the truth: I’m worried about you. Not because I think you’re gonna screw up, but because you’ve clearly been having a hard time this leap. You’ve been angry, frustrated, scared. I just wish I knew how to make you feel better, you know?”

Sam pressed his lips together as he turned a corner.

“I wish I did, too,” he said finally. “I got the short end of the short end of the stick, didn’t I? Not only am I trapped leaping until I die, but I’ve been robbed of my optimism, which was the only thing making it bearable. What a great big, cosmic joke this must be.”

He met Al’s eye. “Go tell Sam A to get a cab into town. I’ll meet him at Broadway and 15th.”

Al hesitated. “You sure you don’t wanna go back to the house first?”

“You said it yourself; sun’s setting. Mister Perfect is supposed to be back at the bus real soon, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Al conceded, and punched a few buttons on the handlink, before disappearing.

Sam let out a deep, relieved breath. Finally, a moment without feeling watched. He pulled the car up to the kerb, a block away from the bus that he figured definitely belonged to the hippies. It stuck out like a sore thumb, with its garish paint job.

He grabbed at the box of electrical components in the back seat, and stepped out of the car, pulling the rope from the trunk and hoisting the pair of wheels onto each of his shoulders.

Maybe, if he was quick enough, he’d be able to get on that bus and leave before the other him got there.

It was best for the both of them, he had convinced himself. Sam A had made more headway with Brenda in a single conversation than he had in days, and the commune seemed to have an actual possibility of the people actually listening to him, which was more than he could say about Bobby’s wife.

Sam A belonged here, and he belonged at the commune.

Sorry, Richie. Guess you’re going to ’Nam after all. But don’t worry, Mister Perfect will take care of you, I’m sure.

He’d have a thing or two to explain to Al when he came back, but it wasn’t like Al didn’t expect this sort of underhanded behaviour, was it?

He shifted the wheel on his right shoulder before stepping onto the sidewalk and making his way in the direction of the bus, eyes fixed downward at his feet.

But those feet stopped dead when he caught sight of Al’s shiny red shoes just ahead. He flicked his eyes up to see that Al wasn’t alone.

“Thanks for doing that for me, buddy,” Sam A said, unburdening Sam B of his wagon wheels with a grin.

“Hey,” Al said, “turns out he already got a cab. Lucky, huh?”

Sam B frowned as he handed over the box. “Yeah. Lucky.”

“Something told me I needed to be here,” Sam A said, eyes narrow as he looked at his duplicate. After a hot second, he diverted his attention to the box of supplies, and his face brightened. “You did a great job! And these wheels will work nicely. Thanks a bunch.” He turned his head, glancing at the bus. “Well, you can go. I’ll take it from here.”

Sam B frowned. “Yeah, okay,” he said with resignation. “See you next leap, I guess.”

“If that’s the way things pan out,” his cheerful twin said. “Bye!”

He took a few steps towards the bus, but paused and turned back, reaching out to Sam B and raiding his pockets for the remaining cash. “Can’t forget the bread,” he said, winking as he placed Bobby’s wedding band into Sam B’s palm. “Or this.” He promptly strode away, leaving Sam B with Al once more.

So much for that bright idea. He took a deep breath, and turned back towards the car, beginning to wonder if he’d been ordained to die with Bobby, making Mister Perfect the sole Sam Beckett. Like he was the corn husk being discarded from the cob.

It was a warm, sunny day, but Sam B just felt cold as he climbed back into the Chevy.

Chapter 21

Heading Back

“Al!”

Marsha’s voice rang out over the din of the street, and she dismounted from the bus, hurrying to Sam A. “Do you need a hand?”

Sam smiled, passing the box to her. “Thanks. It’s a little cumbersome having these wheels on my shoulders.”

“What are you wearing?” Marsha continued, assessing Bobby’s clothing—which he’d neglected to change out of.

Sam glanced down, chuckling. “Oh, this? Just an effort to minimise harassment while I was running around.” He self-consciously undid a few of the shirt buttons, attempting to look like less of a square. “How did the protest go?”

Marsha groaned. “Six of us got arrested. We bailed ’em out, but the pigs have them on file now, which is a bummer.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Sam said as they reached the bus and climbed inside to a wave of cheers. He smiled brightly in response, unloading the wheels. “Evening, folks!”

“Looks like everyone made it back,” Danny said from the smoky haze in the back of the bus. By the smell of it, it wasn’t mere tobacco. “Let’s rock and roll.”

With that, the door of the bus shut, and Marsha and Sam hurried to take their seats as the sputtering engine came to life.

With the bus in motion and heading out of town, and the bus filled with Grateful Dead music, Sam surveyed the sea of faces, and zeroed in on Alicia, who was presently engaged in a bong hit. That, he thought, was a little discouraging, given the decision she was supposed to make soon.

Hanging on to the seats to steady himself, he moved to her.

“Hey. D’you mind if we talk?”

Alicia breathed out the smoke, nodding. “Sure thing, Al.” She shoved at the girl sitting next to her. “Move it, Ann-Marie. Make room for Al already!”

“Oh man, sorry Al!” the dark-haired woman said, her bloodshot eyes indicating she wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “I’ll get outta your hair. Sorry, I didn’t mean to take your seat, man. Sorry…”

“Hey, there’s no need to apologise,” Sam said as she shifted out of the seat and allowed him to take her place. “You did nothing wrong.”

“I didn’t?”

Sam chuckled. “No. Now, uh, you go sit with Marsha and just relax, okay? Don’t want to harsh your mellow, or whatever the lingo is.”

“Harsh my mellow with Marsha…” Ann-Marie mumbled, giggling as she made her way to Sam’s former seat. “Gosh, now I really wanna eat some marshmallows. Does anybody have marshmallows?”

Sam bit back laughter, turning his attention back to Alicia. “Are you… uh, as spaced out as her? Because I kinda need a proper conversation.”

Alicia snorted. “She’s pretty out of it, huh? Well don’t worry, I have a few precious wits about me. Maybe not as many as I did at the start of the day, of course.”

“Well, that’s good, because I wanted to talk to you about the vote tonight.” He looked pointedly at the glass bong in her lap. “You realise I’m proposing to do away with anything illegal, right?”

Alicia nodded, pursing her lips. “Yeah. And I still haven’t made up my mind.” She looked him in the eyes closely. “Hazel… Marsha was right…”

Sam flicked his eyes away from her penetrating stare. “Look, I get that everyone in the commune likes to get… ‘wiped out,’ and I wouldn’t be asking you all to do this if I wasn’t sure there was a drug bust imminent. You know, personally, I prefer a clear head—but I’m not a killjoy. It doesn’t even have to extend past the raid, you know? I guess it boils down to whether you believe me or not that this is going to happen.”

“That you know the future…?”

Sam nodded. “I guess so.”

Alicia crossed her arms, and stared out the window into the rapidly dimming sky. “Tell me some other things you know about the future.”

Sam licked his lips. “Uh, what kind of things?”

“I dunno…” she stroked her chin. “How ’bout this: when will the war be over?”

“Well, it’ll end officially in nineteen seventy-five,” Sam said, though he couldn’t think of the date. “Saigon will be taken by the North. By then, American forces will have been gone a couple of years. And lots of people will have died on both sides.” He clenched his jaw, trying to avoid thinking about the terrible things still to come. And a young Al Calavicci, over there right at that moment, trapped in a tiger cage and being fed a bowl of rice a day. Wasting away, and dreaming every night of a wife that, by this point, had moved on.

He had not successfully avoided thinking about it.

He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Sorry, I—”

Alicia simply took the moment to wrap him in her arms.

“You feel more emotion than humans, huh?” she murmured. “You feel all of humanity’s pain. That must be rough.”

Sam sniffled. “It’s slightly inconvenient,” he managed to choke out, favouring her with as much of a smile as he could muster.

As Alicia pulled away from the hug, she ran fingers over her bong silently, lost in thought.

Finally, she took it with both hands and offered it to Sam.

He looked down at it with confusion. “Uh, no thanks…” he said, raising an eyebrow. He’d just told her he preferred a clear head, hadn’t he?

“Take it,” she insisted. She pushed the paraphernalia into his hands. “I believe you, Al. So I’m giving it up.”

I did it. I tipped the scales.

Elated, Sam accepted the offering. “Thank you, Alicia. Believe me—come the twentieth, you won’t regret this.” He leaned over and planted a tender kiss on her forehead before standing to return to his place beside Marsha.

But as he looked over at the seat, he realised Ann-Marie had nodded off, and was sleeping against Marsha’s shoulder. He sat back down, grinning at Alicia.

“Guess here’s as good a seat as any, huh?”

*        *        *

Al was having difficulty taking his eyes off Sam B as he drove back to Bobby’s house.

When he’d told him he was worried about him, that had been an understatement. Something told him he was hanging by a thread.

“So what am I expecting back at the house?” he asked. “Is Brenda now putty in my hands, or did the other guy have no luck?”

“He said he left you some notes,” Al explained. “They’re in your nightstand. He said you gotta read them carefully. Oh, and he said to make sure you ditch the shirt before Brenda sees you, or she’ll think you’re Richie.”

“We should’ve just stayed switched,” Sam muttered.

Al frowned at this. “Sam, you can’t be serious. That would mean Richie might leap back to Vietnam. He’s not even trained, and you should see how scared he is of going. As soon as he found out I’m military, he had a Grade A freak-out.”

“I’m scared too, remember?” Sam sniffed. “Besides, Sam A would be able to handle the tour of duty for as long as he had to, right? He’s handled everything else.”

Al could hear Sam’s voice filling with resentment.

“Sam A might be good at the art of persuasion, but do you really think he’s capable of handling honest-to-god warfare? I doubt it. I don’t think the Vietcong’s going to jump out of the undergrowth and be down for a heart-to-heart, you know? Trust me.”

Sam’s eyes were focused on the road ahead, and his brows sat heavy over them. In the dim light that danced from street lamp to street lamp as his friend drove, Al saw deeply etched lines and fatigue in his face, and a pain he’d never seen so pronounced.

“Hang in there, Sam,” Al said in his most sympathetic tone.

Sam looked like he was about to respond, but let out a shallow sigh and said nothing, opting instead to run a hand through his hair.

Down in Al’s hand, the handlink gave a jingle, and he checked the reading with a frown. “Looks like I might lose my connection to you pretty soon, Sam. But the good news is, Verbena may have figured out how to focus the signal on one of you at a time. We just need to test it out.”

“Verbena?” Sam said, eyebrows raising in surprise. “How did Verbena figure that out? What does she know about holograms? Did I swiss-cheese something?”

Al squinted as he read the message.

“Well, turns out it’s some kinda psychological thing with the merged twins in the Waiting Room. Now that Ziggy knows there are two of you, she should be able to target which of you to send me to, and we just need to combine it with Beeks’s head-shrinking to make one twin more prominent than the other, which causes the signal to become solid—at least, I think that’s what the idea is. Team effort.”

“Huh.” Sam quirked a smile. “Well, good. Tell her ‘thanks’ for me.”

Al grinned. “That’s the spirit, Sam. See? It’s not all bad news.”

“Just mostly.”

Al wished he could argue with that.

Chapter 22

Motivations

When Sam B arrived back at Bobby’s place, the house smelled of fresh cooked chicken. With Brenda busy preparing dinner, he slipped past the kitchen and into the bedroom, where he promptly changed his clothes, and checked the night stand for the notes his other half had left.

It was four folded-up pieces of paper torn from a notepad, with his unmistakable handwriting on them. Maybe a little neater than his usual fare. Typical.

As he unfolded the paper and ran his eyes over the writing, he began to lose the will to actually read the words. He knew that his only way out of this was to follow what his magnanimous clone had laid out for him. So why did he just want to curl up in this bed, pull the covers above his head, and never come out?

He rubbed his tired eyes. He did certainly need sleep, that was for damn sure.

Just read it, it’s only a few pages, he told himself before doing his best to concentrate on the instructions.

“Hey. Look, both you and I know I’d be better off doing this, but since that isn’t an option, I’m gonna just have to hope that you and Al can pull it off. Please don’t let me down. A child’s existence hangs in the balance.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. His counterpart was so damn condescending.

“I’ve identified that Brenda’s turn to alcoholism was brought about by her fears surrounding Bobby’s deployment. She’s afraid he’s not coming back, and that she’ll have to face life and the baby all on her own. She’s using the alcohol as a way to ease her anxiety about it all.”

It almost sounded to Sam B that Brenda would be better off not having a baby, at least if her husband wasn’t coming home. Which brought him to the possibility that he was here to prevent both the miscarriage and Bobby’s death. Great. Twice the work.

But it did make sense that Brenda was feeling this way, given what she’d blurted out to him this morning: “The only thing that’ll still be here for me when you…” She was definitely using it to fill some kind of a hole.

He read on.

“Brenda had quite a breakthrough with me. She even promised to spend the days up to Bobby’s deployment dry. I think she’s willing to give up the drinking for good if—and this is a major ‘if’—you can figure out a way to make her feel like she won’t be abandoned after you’re gone.”

Sam gritted his teeth, hoping there were some suggestions coming. This was exactly the kind of thing he felt unprepared to deal with: the nuances of human psychology. He was struggling enough with his own mind right now, let alone someone else’s.

And what did he know about leaving a lonely wife at home, anyway? That was more Al’s department.

“Now, you should find out from Al about the parents and families of both Bobby and Brenda, and snoop around to find out about their friends. Surely someone can be a support for her. Even that friend who was feeding her margaritas earlier, Jenny.”

This all sounded like a lot of work, and numerous opportunities to have more drinks thrown in his face. Sam heaved a sigh.

“Just remember, this requires delicacy. You need to open your heart to people, and understand what they’re going through. That guy Harvey may have responded to your violence and threats, but that’s hardly going to fix things with the wife.”

Sam scowled at the notes. Of course he wasn’t going to get physical with Brenda! What kind of a mindless beast did Sam A think he was, anyway?

“Keep your temper in check. I’ve seen how the littlest things set you off. You’re probably already stewing over what I just wrote there about violence.”

Sam rolled his eyes at this. It was easy for Sam A to say that; he wasn’t the one feeling such unbridled emotions.

“I think I know myself pretty well, and I’m fairly sure I’m not capable of hitting a person without it being for a very good reason, but… seriously, keep a lid on it. Anger is not gonna get you anywhere, and it’ll only make things worse. Don’t mess up what I’ve gifted you here, okay? I feel terrible about leaving, but I have important things to do—for the children. So I leave this in your hands, and I hope to God I didn’t make a mistake in that.”

The smugness of the letter ignited a new drive within Sam: spite.

Yeah, fine. He would do this, purely because everyone doubted he could. And he would rub it in his other self’s face later.

*        *        *

When the commune gathered in the dome for the new vote, Sam A proudly watched as the crowd split, with Alicia creating a majority on Sam’s side.

As it became clear that the proposal to remove all illegal narcotics from the commune had passed, Danny lit a cigarette and took a deep, long drag. His sunglasses hid his eyes—Really now, who wears sunglasses at night?—but Sam could feel them boring into him nonetheless. Just as they’d been boring into him on the bus all the way back here.

Sam approached him, giving an apologetic look.

“Danny, I wanted to thank you for handling this so well,” he said, smiling warmly. “I know this is a lot of change in a small amount of time, but I promise you, it’ll all be worth it.”

Danny plucked the cigarette from his lips, offering only an unreadable expression.

“It’s an open democracy—and the people have spoken,” he said flatly, as grey smoke curled from his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean your changes are going to stick. Al. People here care about their freedom. So if and when this bust doesn’t happen, I’ll be there to serve up your humble pie.”

“Noted,” Sam said, chuckling. “Tell you what: that humble pie can be thrown in my face if I’m wrong. Until then, we have a lot of work to do, huh? Classrooms to build, electricity to generate… drugs to get rid of.”

Danny frowned, and looked like he was about to say something, when Sam felt a tug on his shirt from behind. He turned to see Marsha smiling at him.

“Congratulations, Al,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to see the transformation of this place.” She tilted her head. “I am gonna miss the LSD, though.”

Sam stifled a laugh. “Well, there’s plenty of other things to do around here.”

Marsha took him tenderly by the hand. “Yes there are.” She leaned in towards him, her other hand wrapping around his neck. Not kissing his cheek this time, but instead engaging in a deep, passionate kiss on his lips.

Sam felt his cheeks flush, and he took a step back, prying his lips away from hers. “Hey now—easy! I’m not Richie, remember?”

“I know,” she said, licking her lips. “Richie isn’t a jealous guy. In fact if he were here, he’d probably be kissing you too.” She winked. “Our love is as free as it gets, Al.”

“Oh boy…” Sam murmured as she led him by the hand out of the dome. As they emerged into the night air, he quelled his pounding heart. “Listen, as… um, wonderful a person as you are, I—” he dragged a hand down his face, and somewhere behind him, the Imaging Chamber door slid open, allowing Al to witness Sam’s awkward situation. “I just—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Marsha looked crestfallen. “Why not, Al?”

“Yeah, ‘Al’,” Al chimed in, waving around a cigar, “Why not? Jeez, one of you surely has to have the sex drive, as repressed as it may be.”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s not that I wouldn’t under the right circumstances,” he said, struggling to explain, “I just don’t feel right sleeping with someone who doesn’t really know who I am.”

Al groaned. “Oh, Sam. Live a little, why don’t you? These hippie chicks are a riot in the sack! And no strings attached!”

Sam shot him a warning look, before turning back to Marsha. “There are things about me I can’t tell you, Marsha. And if I did, they might change the way you look at me.”

Marsha frowned. “Bad things?”

“Not bad things,” Sam said. Boy, he wasn’t doing a good job of this, was he? It seemed he had reached the limits of his charisma with Brenda. “Just things that would change things between us.” Like the fact I’m not from another planet, for example. And I’m not ushering in the New Age.

He just felt it would be unethical to sleep with someone who thought he was some kind of outer space mystical being, when he was just a scientist from Indiana. But he couldn’t explain that without jeopardising his position here. It was simply better not to do anything, no matter how ‘hot to trot’ Marsha—or anyone else here—might have been.

As Marsha wandered back to her tepee, disappointed, Al shook his head.

“Oh, Sam,” he said. “That was a sad, sad sight. Such a waste to leave a lady hanging like that. Your double did the same damn thing with Brenda. If only I could offer them my services. Both at once.” He was looking dreamily into the distance, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Okay, Sexy Sadie, let’s not make a fool of everyone,” Sam said with a smirk, quoting a Beatles song. “What brings you here, anyway? I’ve got everything under control, you know.”

“Well—yes, Ziggy tells me when the raid happens, they don’t find any drugs,” Al said, giving the handlink a smack on the side. “So technically you should be leaping.”

“But…?”

“But only half of you is done with the leap.”

“I’m not done anyway,” Sam said. “I still have irons in the fire here. I don’t want to leap until I get a good start on them at the very least.”

“Well, I guess you’ll get your wish, until Sam B’s got his side dealt with.” Al shrugged. “Enjoy your vacation, I guess.”

Sam beamed. “You bet I will. I have a hydroelectric generator to build tomorrow.”

Al shook his head. “I’ll never understand your idea of fun.”

Chapter 23

Broken Glass

Sam B just wanted a night of sleep. Just one night where he could catch up on desperately needed shut-eye and ease his deprivation.

But, as a result of Sam A’s meddling, now—at three in the morning—he was awake and tending to a shaking Brenda, who was undergoing the effects of alcohol withdrawal.

The pair of them were on the cold floor of the bathroom, the toilet recently having been graced with vomitus. Sam had his arms around her as she quivered and dripped with sweat, and he stared up at the ceiling through sleepy eyes, silently cursing out God or Time or Fate.

He was so, so tired.

“I… never shoulda done this…” she said, her clammy hands clutching at his arms. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”

Beats me, lady, he thought. But he said: “Shh, it’s gonna be okay. It won’t last forever. You just let me know if you start to feel worse, okay?”

Soft touch, he kept telling himself. Keep the negative thoughts inside.

It felt like he was back at his medical internship, pulling marathon shifts at the hospital until he could barely stand the fatigue. Thinking of this like a job made it marginally more tolerable. This was his patient, not his wife. He just needed to tap into his bedside manner, which people always told him was very pleasant, though it might only have been because he’d been a kid when he first started med school, and patients were looking at him like he was Doogie Howser.

Brenda snuggled into the crook of his arm. “Don’t let go of me, okay?”

“I won’t, Brenda,” Sam reassured her, gently stroking her hair and furiously ignoring the strong urge he was experiencing to just get away from here, to run away from all of this and… God, I wish that were an option.

Well, technically, he supposed it was. But it would mean giving up on ever getting home, and just becoming Bobby Deleon. He wondered what would happen back at the Project if he pulled that one off and Sam A kept on leaping. Was that a workable solution? What would happen to the person in the Waiting Room? Would Mister Perfect even be able to leap with him still around?

He shook his head. He couldn’t really do that, right? That wouldn’t give him what he really needed. He’d be miserable.

But he’d be alive. And the more he thought about Bobby’s destined death, the more scared he got about it. It felt cowardly, but he just had such a horrible feeling about it; that if he was sent to Vietnam, he was going to die. Something had to give.

Brenda stirred in his arms, and crawled on her hands and knees weakly to the toilet bowl, releasing another torrent of bile into it. Sam held back her hair, sighing and wishing he’d managed to get on that damn hippie bus.

When she was done, Sam filled a glass from the basin, and gave it to her. She accepted it with shaking hands and thirstily drank from it. Then she lost her grip on the glass and it fell to the floor, breaking into several sharp pieces.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry Bobby,” she said, flopping back against the wall.

Sam picked up the pieces silently, and threw a towel on the floor to soak up the excess water.

“It’s okay,” he forced out as he took the shards and headed to the kitchen to dispose of them.

Coincidentally, the Imaging Chamber door appeared as he reached the trash can, and Al wandered out, looking worried.

“Ziggy said you were still awake,” he said, studying Sam as he threw the glass pieces in. “It’s three in the morning. Did you find your sex drive, maybe? Have you and Brenda been in bed all night… reconciling?”

Sam shot him a tired-eyed, withering glare.

“Guess that answers that question,” Al said, smirking. “Should have guessed. So what are you doing up this late?”

“I have to make sure Brenda doesn’t die of alcohol withdrawal syndrome,” Sam said joylessly. “So while the prospect of a good night’s sleep is highly appealing to me right about now, I’m stuck tending to her while this thing runs its course.”

Al’s irreverent posture faded. “Damn, that’s too bad. How’s she doing? The shakes can be real tough—I know.”

Sam shrugged, gesturing to the trash can. “Well, she just broke a glass, but there’s been nothing alarming at this point. Just a lot of nausea. I’m trying to keep her fluids up.”

“You’ve been gentle with her, I hope?” Distrust flashed in Al’s eyes—brief, but enough for Sam to notice.

“For your information, yes I have!” Sam snapped, and quickly recomposed himself. He started back towards the bathroom. “Can you check with Ziggy and see if she pulls through okay?”

Al tapped at his handlink as he followed Sam through the house.

“Yeah, she’s gonna live to see another day. But the baby still won’t at this stage, Sam.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Sam mumbled as he entered the bathroom. Brenda was still sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. Her eyes were closed, and face pale in the dim light.

“Brenda?” Sam said, crouching beside her and touching her moist arm. On the contact, her eyes opened.

“Why…” she said quietly.

“Why what?” Sam moved to sit beside her, as Al watched on with concern.

“Why is it so important to you that I dry out…?”

It’s not even about you, Sam thought as he ran a hand down his face.

“You’re my wife and I care about your well-being, honey,” he lied. “And—and the baby.” He winced, hoping he wasn’t opening up another can of worms that would make everything worse. It had seemed like no matter how tactful he tried to be, it always blew up in his face with this woman.

“You really think it hurts the baby?”

Sam took her by the hand. “Look what it’s done to you, Brenda. You think our baby would be immune when it’s a part of you?”

At this, Al grimaced. “Sam, careful.”

I know, Al. but it’s the truth.

Instead of getting angry this time, Brenda began to sob, and pressed her face into Sam’s shoulder.

Sam exchanged a look with Al, before wrapping her in another embrace and letting her cry it out as he pressed his lips together and marinated in his own misery.

After a little while, he realised that Brenda had fallen asleep in his arms, and he gently checked her vitals to make sure she was still stable.

“You’re doing great, Sam,” Al said as he watched on, his voice filled with surprise. “Maybe you don’t have a mean bone in your body, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Sam whispered back. “Why don’t you go tell the other guy I’m beating him at his own game, huh? Make sure to wake him up with a loud noise.”

There’s definitely something to be said for spite as a motivator, Sam thought with a private smirk.

Al laughed. “Well, I would, but Beeks has to do her voodoo in the Waiting Room to get the proper signal for him. So maybe later.” He gestured to Sam. “Besides, this is a more pressing matter. Sam A’s already knocked over his goal, and everything else he’s doing is just the cherry on top.”

This made Sam B frown. “Oh. It was that simple for him, huh?”

“Well, maybe,” Al said. “But that just makes you the big cheese for the leap. You’re saving one, maybe two lives. All Sam A did was stop some hippies from going to jail for a while.”

This merely made Sam wonder why their roles hadn’t been reversed from the start. He should have leaped into the commune—it sounded peaceful and simple. Something he could handle. Of course, that would only be logical for a benevolent God. Instead, here he was on the floor next to the toilet, holding on to a sweaty pregnant woman, days before his brutal death.

He could only hope that maybe Sam A had some misfortune coming his way to even things out a little.

Chapter 24

Works In Progress

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when Sam A began his day, feverishly working on his projects.

He set about building the turbine that would generate a current in response to the water turning his wagon wheels, which he had fixed together with a series of fins between them, allowing the water to easily spin the wheel as it flowed downstream through the property. As he worked, the boy he’d met a couple of days earlier—Mike—wandered up to him. He watched Sam work, his eyes lit up with great curiosity.

“What’s that?” he asked, watching Sam drilling a hole through the centre of a magnet.

“This is the key to generating the electrical current,” Sam explained with an enthusiastic gesture. “It’s a strong permanent magnet. Each end of this magnet has a north and south pole; emitting a field that’s either positively or negatively charged. And by spinning it using the transferred kinetic energy from the moving water of the stream here, the changing magnetic field moves electrons into this coil—” he held up a copper coil, “—which creates an electrical current that can be used to power devices, or passed into a battery for storage and later use. It’s called ‘electromagnetic induction.’”

Mike stared, wide-eyed, at the magnet. “I dunno what any of that means, but it sounds real groovy, Mister Al.”

Sam ruffled the boy’s hair. “Well, when you learn to read, you should get yourself some physics books, okay? You can do some really fun stuff when you learn about science. Really… uh, groovy stuff.”

Mike planted himself on the grass next to Sam. “Is it okay if I just watch you a while?”

“Sure,” Sam said. “Just don’t touch anything, okay? Electricity can be dangerous. Not that I’m generating any just yet. Still a lot left to do.”

He got back to work, allowing Mike to scrutinise his every task. All the while, he tried to ignore the fact that Danny was standing by the dome, chain-smoking and watching him from a distance.

After a couple of hours, he took a break to begin arranging for the building of the classroom. He’d previously discovered a barn full of building materials, and numerous people living on the ranch had volunteered their services to erect the little schoolhouse he’d proposed. One woman had even drawn up blueprints. Sam felt incredibly lucky to be a part of such a community, and he helped the volunteers plot out the right spot for the classroom, which they decided would be a standalone structure at the back of the dome.

As the team began to dig into the grass to level the land, he moved on to the outhouses, where another group was giving the place a deep clean, their hands covered in thick rubber gloves that extended up to their elbows.

“How’s it going here?” he asked, keeping his distance from the bio-hazardous gloves.

“So far so good,” said Alicia, who wore a scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. “Stinks, though.”

“Well, hopefully once we’re done, that will no longer be the case,” Sam said cheerfully, waving a hand over his nose.

His idea here was to use modern natural filtration techniques, diverting part of the stream to flow behind the outhouses and snake down through pipes downhill, towards a sandy reed bed to filter the sewage, finally diverting overflow back to the stream, returning the newly cleaned water to the natural source. It was a big job, and he would not likely be around to see it through, so he’d detailed his plans in a notebook, which he’d been working on overnight.

He hadn’t had a lot of sleep, he had to admit, but he felt energised nonetheless, seeing all his ideas start to take shape.

Al hadn’t paid him a visit since the previous night, which Sam thought was maybe for the best. He didn’t need any help here, and by contrast, Sam B needed about as much as he could get.

He hoped the instructions he’d left had been sufficient; from what he had observed about his other half, it was as if Sam’s normally sparkling personality had been stripped away, and he could barely recognise what remained. Or maybe, he recognised it too well. It was a side of himself he was never proud of. When it came down to it, he felt the person he was now seemed to be what tended to win out during periods of internal conflict: the drive to do whatever he could to make things better, in big and small ways. To give over his life in the pursuit of altruism.

Now, split in half, he was free of that conflict. There was no voice of resentment—of selfishness—telling him this was too hard, that he couldn’t keep this up, that he just wanted to go home. And that was why he was accomplishing so very much now.

A modest crowd had congregated as he finished up work on the hydroelectric generator, and he flipped a switch on it, leading to a diode on a small panel to light up in red. He dusted off his hands, offering the congregation a triumphant grin.

“Watch this light,” he said to the transfixed crowd. “When it flips over to green, the battery’s fully charged. You can then switch it out for another one. Make sure not to leave it on green for too long, it’ll get over-charged and damage the battery.” He gestured to another series of cables extending from the generator. “These cables you can hook up direct to your devices when needed. As long as the stream is flowing, you’ll get a modest amount of power from these. As with all electrical components, handle with care and don’t let it mix with water. Only the wheel touches the water, okay?”

The crowd gave murmurs of understanding, and Danny emerged from the group, a cigarette still hanging from his mouth.

“Thanks, Al,” he said with a begrudging respect. “This ought to save us some gas money.”

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, patting him on the back. He knew Danny would come around. He turned to the gathered people, grinning. “Well, come on, everyone. We have a classroom to build, right?”

Sam worked with the other builders, fixing structural pillars into concrete and laying foundations. The sun was on its way down when a pain in his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day; he hadn’t even thought about it. But there was still so much left to do. Then again, he figured, it would be difficult to do anything in the dark.

Accepting his inevitable defeat for the day, he retired to the dome, where he joined the rest of the communards for dinner. It was only after sitting down that he realised how exhausted he felt.

Soon enough, a big plate of pasta was presented to him, and he ate hungrily, as Marsha approached him from behind and began to massage his aching back.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, feeling embarrassed about the attention.

“It’s the least I can do—if I can’t thank you in other ways, Al,” she said warmly, slowly and rhythmically pressing her fingers into the back of his neck.

“Well, there must be something… uh, you know—platonic—I can do to thank you,” he said before stuffing his mouth with pasta.

“You’ve done plenty for us,” she murmured. “And everyone’s so happy you came here. I know you said you’re not staying, but even when you’re gone, this place will be forever singing your praises, you know?”

Now he really felt embarrassed.

And as he bashfully concentrated on his meal, he noticed Danny over at the other side of the dome, talking quietly to some of the handful of people who’d voted against his proposals.

Well, he thought, Danny had thanked him earlier. Maybe he was convincing his friends that Sam really did have the commune’s best interests in mind. That had to be it.

Chapter 25

Dark Night of a Portion of the Soul

Back in San Diego, another unlucky day had transitioned into night, and although Brenda had managed to make it through the worst of her withdrawals and was now sleeping feverishly, Sam B was wide awake, nervously pacing the living room. Apparently, now his anxiety was standing in the way of a restful night. It was always something.

Al poked a nervous head into the Imaging Chamber, and a startled Sam stopped short of walking through the hologram.

“Well?” he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

“Well what?” Al asked, shrinking under Sam’s glare.

“Did you find anyone that’ll help Brenda with the baby?”

Al grimaced, tapping at the handlink. “Well, Ziggy can only speculate, you know. Not like she has psych profiles of everyone in town. You tried the parents, I assume?”

Sam nodded grimly and clawed at his hair, agitated. “I called Bobby’s parents, I called Brenda’s parents. They’re interstate—of course—and they were real quick to congratulate the couple on the pregnancy, but as soon as I brought up the possibility of getting their help—” he laughed bitterly, throwing up his hands, “—suddenly, it was all excuses. Who knew retired people had so many pressing obligations? ’Cause I certainly didn’t! Missus Deleon’s bingo habit sure takes up a lot of her time, apparently. Much more important than an infant grandchild, am I right?”

He resumed pacing as he continued his rant.

“And don’t get me started on Brenda’s father; he hasn’t even visited Brenda in years, and when he bothers to call her, it’s because he wants to ‘borrow’ money. Her Mom’s been living in a remote part of Alaska for six years, and I don’t think she even has a phone… this family is a nightmare, Al.”

“Okay, cool your jets, Sam,” Al said in a soothing tone, holding a hand out. “Just breathe, okay?”

“I can’t relax, Al,” Sam said, voice strained. “I’m running out of time here. And options.” He collapsed on the couch, shaking his head. “Maybe this baby wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I leaped in here because I’m the fat being trimmed, and I’m doomed to be killed, just like Bobby.”

There. He’d said it. The elephant in the room.

“Sam… I’ve never heard you talk like this before.” Al passed through the couch to the other side, coming into his friend’s eye line. “Listen to me. Ziggy’s positive you and the hippie are going to re-merge as soon as this leap is over. There’s no way you’re supposed to die, okay? Even given all of Sam A’s successes the past few days, I can tell he’s not all there—he’s too… you know… perky. Not nearly enough sarcasm! He doesn’t get annoyed enough by my innuendo, either. Frankly, I don’t want a Sam that hasn’t got you in him. It just wouldn’t be the same! You undersell your value, kid.”

Sam looked up at him, unconvinced.

“What value?” he spat. “This whole leap, the only thing I can think about is how much I don’t want to do this. Fears, doubts, anxiety. Anger and pain. Every part of myself I’ve always worked to overcome, but… it’s all I have now. I’ve been trying so hard to beat back these feelings enough to make a difference, but it’s getting harder every damn minute.” He felt his eyes welling up. “I just want to go home,” he whimpered.

“Oh, pal,” murmured Al, giving Sam a sympathetic, wide-eyed gaze. “You just gotta hang in there a little longer. We’ll get through this. We always do.”

“I’m so tired…” He rubbed at his eyes, releasing the tears that hadn’t, until then, breached the surface tension.

“Bobby?” came Brenda’s voice from the hall. “I heard you talking… is something wrong?”

Just leave me alone, lady. Please.

Instead of heeding his unspoken plea, she crossed to the couch and sat beside him.

“Bobby…” she said softly, spotting the tears running down his cheeks. Her eyes widened, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Bobby. I’m here.” She kissed him on the cheek, and guided his head onto her shoulder. “I guess it’s gotten to you too, leaving for the war, huh? It’s alright, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you come home. And so will the baby.”

Sam felt conflicted; on one hand, he just wanted to get away from all of this and be alone, but on the other, he was desperate for the affection she was giving him. He gave in to the latter, and allowed himself to be comforted, much like he had been comforting her the night prior.

Al was watching silently, seemingly not knowing what to say, but too concerned to leave.

“Sorry you had to see me like this,” Sam mumbled to Brenda, as she caressed his hair.

Bobby probably likes to act all macho. Brenda may never have seen him cry before.

“It’s alright. Even big strong men cry sometimes,” Brenda said sagely. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of. Now come on to bed. You need your sleep, honey.”

“Do what she says, Sam,” Al chimed in. “You gotta go clock a few zees. Or a lot. You’re wound up tighter than Tina’s silver hot pants.”

At this, Sam shot him an exasperated glare.

“See, that face right there,” Al grinned, pointing his cigar at Sam. “That’s the Sam I know.” He winked. “Now go hit the hay already; you look like the walking dead.”

Bone-weary and barely thinking, Sam allowed Brenda to escort him to the bed, where she continued holding him close, until the haze of sleep finally took him away.

But although the much-needed slumber was welcome, the nightmare that followed was not.

It was an unsettling Greatest Hits of some of his most fearful moments, stripped of the hope he’d had at the time, as well as most of the context, and always ending in disaster.

Sitting in an electric chair as the switch was pulled, flowing seamlessly into having high voltage electrodes attached to his temples, which turned to lightning in the sky as he flew a plane through a storm as the sensors went haywire, which became a howling hurricane with debris flying towards him, and then a sandstorm that buried him in an ancient tomb, and then a wall opened up and he was cast out to sea among garbage, leaving him sinking in the ocean, a haze of blue water surrounding him and filling his senses until everything became a swirling, bright blue light.

And then his ears filled with a cruel laughter, that at first sounded like Al’s voice, then morphed into Ziggy’s voice, and then for reasons unknown to Sam, became the voice of Weird Ernie from his first leap, and eventually became layered with the voices of a hundred different people, each one strangely familiar, but he didn’t remember who they were.

And then it was like he was receiving an assault from all directions; every time he’d ever been beaten, shot, or stabbed. Each bruise, each wound a reminder of the constant danger that surrounded him, that followed him no matter what.

When Sam finally awoke, he was curled into a ball on the floor beside the bed, drenched head to toe in sweat.

And he didn’t know if he had been better off asleep with the horrors of his nightmares, or facing another day that drew him ever nearer to a violent death, with no relief in sight.

Chapter 26

Reckless Abandon

Bobby Deleon just didn’t understand what this weird hospital room was all about. Where was he, anyway? Had Harvey punched him so hard he’d gotten some kind of head injury? He’d been in this place a few days now, and was getting quite worried that he was going to miss his deployment. What would everyone think of him? Sure, he felt like death warmed up, but he had been mentally preparing to go to war for many months now; it almost felt like he was being cheated of it.

And the doctor that kept coming to talk to him had a strange knack for confusing him. He didn’t understand why he kept saying strange things in her presence.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, the Star Trek door opened up with a whoosh, revealing Doctor Beeks once again.

“Good day, Mister Deleon,” she said warmly.

“Hi.” Bobby sighed, rubbing his temples. “Another check-up, ma’am?”

Doctor Beeks nodded. “I’m afraid so, Bobby.” As the door shut behind her, she went through her usual checks, using instruments that looked like something out of a science fiction movie. He had previously asked what they were, and she’d told him, but now he couldn’t remember. At least he could recognise the stethoscope when she checked his chest.

“Am I getting better?” he asked, and his body seemed to answer the question with a wave of nausea. He grabbed at his sick bag and filled it once more—with what, he had no idea, because he didn’t have anything left in his stomach, he was quite sure.

He rolled onto his back, letting the room spin in his vision.

“You haven’t gotten worse,” the doctor said, placing a cool hand on his burning forehead.

“So… that’s a ‘no?’” he said quietly.

“Sorry, Bobby,” she said, patting him on the hand. “Want me to help you get your mind off it? We can chat.”

Bobby frowned. She was going to muddle up his mind again, he was sure of it. “No thanks.” He rolled over, facing away from her.

“Is something wrong?”

“Every time you talk to me my head goes all weird,” he mumbled. “So can you please just leave me alone?”

“Is your head going weird now?” the woman asked.

“Not yet. It’s just when you start…” he scratched his head, “when you start talking about my brother.”

At his own mention of Richie, his head began to swim a little. What was wrong with him? It was a strange head rush, not like anything he’d experienced, and he’d tried a lot of drugs—wait, no I haven’t… damn, it’s starting again. I’m getting all confused.

“Remember how I told you you could have a… connection with your brother?”

“Oh, not this again,” Bobby moaned. “Richie can take a jump for all I care! Connection my ass!”

He felt the hand of the doctor on his arm, and he shrugged it off.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true,” she persisted. “And I have the feeling the two of you are going to need to talk things out.”

“So bring him in here and we will,” he said sulkily. “Oh wait, you can’t ’cause he’s in hiding.”

“I can’t bring him here, Bobby,” Doctor Beeks said soothingly, “but you can. Because whether you like it or not, you and he share a bond, and I think on some level you know he’s in there with you.”

“What…?” this lady was out of her mind.

But we’re all connected! Everyone is one with the universe. If you tried a few tabs you might understand, Bobby.

Shut up, Richie! Bobby blinked. I—where are you?

Here. Wherever ‘here’ is. I dunno, man. Astral plane?

Bobby wrenched his eyes closed. This wasn’t happening. He was hallucinating. It was the head injury.

“What are you doing to me, Doctor?” he asked, still not daring open his eyes. “Is this some kind of… weird experiment?”

“Uh, I’m not sure how to answer that,” Doctor Beeks said. “But talk to me. What are you experiencing right now?”

“He’s…” Richie rubbed his eyes. “I’m…” Bobby shook his head. “How is he talking to me? I don’t want…”

The doctor once again placed her hand on his arm as he shuddered.

“Talk to him, Bobby. He’s really there, I promise.”

Bobby frowned, curling up his body in the bed. “But how is he doing this?”

Who cares? Just go with the flow! This is a trip!

“You’re both doing it,” the doctor said. “And I’m here to help facilitate your communication, if need be. So whatever is going on inside, try to vocalise it. Speak out loud. That way I can help both of you.”

“This is crazy,” Richie said, grinning. “I dunno how you pulled this off, but you must have some far out ESP or somethin’, lady.”

He turned to face the doctor. “Is this a spaceship or something? Are you an alien? Marsha is gonna freak.”

“I’m just a doctor,” the woman said. “But please. Go on and talk to your brother, okay?”

Bobby’s gaze dropped and his lip snarled. “Is there even anything to say?”

“Oh, go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” Richie said, heaving a deep sigh. “You want to say I’m a coward. Betrayed my country. Et cetera. Blah blah blah.” He gestured with his hand, mimicking a puppet talking.

“Okay, yeah,” Bobby said, crossing his arms. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Richie was about to respond when the door opened, revealing the Admiral. Richie shut his mouth. He wasn’t going to talk with this guy around.

The old man met the doctor’s eye.

“Beeks, what the hell did you do?”

The woman gave him a brilliant smile. “I made a major breakthrough, Al.”

The Admiral clenched his teeth, gesturing wildly. “Well unbreak it! Ziggy can’t connect to either Sam.”

Doctor Beeks sighed. “Can it wait just a bit longer? This was quite tricky to accomplish. I have both of them talking to each other.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” He crossed to the bed, peering down at Richie/Bobby. “You think that’s a good idea?”

The doctor nodded. “These two have issues to sort through,” she explained, “which may be integral to the leap’s success.”

Richie tilted his head, wondering what all this gobbledygook was about.

It’s none of our business, Richie.

Far out, Bobby—you really are big-time brainwashed by The Man. Free your mind!

You’re the brainwashed one, Richie. All those damn drugs, and all the same vapid hippie slogans that they all spout.

The Admiral nodded slowly. “Hmm. Okay, but don’t be too long. Sam B needs me. Just… hurry it up, okay?”

He gave her a worried look, but disappeared out the door before the doctor could respond. She turned back to the twins, who were both watching her through the same set of eyes.

“Sorry about that interruption. Please continue, gentlemen.”

*        *        *

Knock knock!

Sam B straightened his shirt collar and donned his best innocent look as Jenny’s door swung open.

Brenda’s girlfriend looked him up and down, and cocked her head in confusion. “Bobby? Brenda isn’t here…”

“Uh, I know,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was actually here to talk to you. About Brenda.”

Jenny gave him a sceptical look. “What about her?”

“Well, when she left the other day, we had a heart-to-heart, and agreed that it’s best to try and curb her alcohol consumption while she’s pregnant, to give the baby the best chance.”

Jenny nodded silently, eyes narrow.

“But of course,” Sam continued, “I’m not gonna be around to help her with the baby, nor watch her drinking. Not for a while, anyway. So I was wondering if you could be that person? Just ’til I get back.”

Assuming Bobby ever does come back.

Jenny’s demeanour shifted. “Help with her baby? And her drinking?” Her face tightened. “I have my own stuff going on… and I probably drink more than her…”

Sam let out a breath as his cheeks filled with heat. This was the last straw. Brenda didn’t have a single person that cared about her except Bobby.

“Figures. You’re there in a second when the two of you can get day-drunk and complain about men, but the moment she actually needs you, you abandon her. Some friend you are, Jenny.” He gave his head a shake and turned to leave, stepping down off the doorstep.

When Jenny didn’t respond, he glanced back to see she had moved herself behind the door and was staring at him with fearful eyes and her mouth hanging open.

Realising that he must have scared her with his outburst, he took a step back towards her, aiming to apologise, but the movement only served to scare her further, and she shut the door. The sound of it clicking locked followed, and Sam slapped a hand to his forehead.

He retreated to the car, and drove away, his stomach churning. That had been the last option—Al hadn’t provided anything else, and hadn’t even shown up this morning at all. Like Brenda, he too felt abandoned.

As he pulled up to Bobby’s house, it struck him that not only was this baby doomed, but so was he. And the only way he could think to prevent his death in Vietnam for certain was… well, not to go.

Instead of getting out of the car, he pulled it away from the house and again drove away.

Maybe there was room for one more at the commune.

Chapter 27

Victory of the Narcs

It was a bright and warm day at Moonstone Ranch. Same as every day he’d had the privilege of being here, Sam A realised.

He wiped the layer of sweat that had built up on his face with his sleeve. It was time to take a break from the construction of the classroom and meet the rest of the residents in the dome to collect all the drugs for disposal.

As he entered, he noticed a sombre mood among the crowd.

Sam couldn’t blame them for being upset about giving up their substances. A hippie without drugs seemed like a dog without a bone. But it was necessary. He’d gotten to know all of these people, and he didn’t want to see any of them rounded up and thrown in prison.

Marsha held the burlap sack as each of the communards reluctantly dropped in their personal stash. As she approached each person, she apologised to them. Sam followed up by thanking them, and personally promising they wouldn’t regret it.

Finally, they reached Danny, who cast a few dime bags into the sack, his facial expression mostly hidden behind his sunglasses and moustache. He leaned to Sam, whispering in his ear.

“Enjoying your little victory, spaceman?”

Sam gave him a warm smile. “It’s a victory for all of us here, Danny. I promise.”

“Hmph.” Danny folded his arms. “And who’s the loser?”

Sam tilted his head as he parsed Danny’s words, and realised he’d been neglecting the relationship between the two of them. Danny clearly resented his changes, he’d made that much clear. Well, he thought, he’d need to rectify that now.

He placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed like I’m running roughshod over the commune, Danny. I don’t want to diminish your position here. It’s just, I’m only here for a limited time, and I wanted to help in as many ways as I could before I went away again.”

Danny watched as Marsha moved away to continue her collection, and he subsequently placed a hand on Sam’s back, ushering him away from the crowd.

“Richie, pal, I don’t know why you’ve put on this act,” he said, his tone unusually light and easy. “I don’t know what Marsha saw the other night. I don’t know why you’ve decided to use all this unearned authority to do what you’re doing. I especially don’t know why you’re saying you’re leaving soon. You’re a complete mystery to me.” He stopped, turning to face Sam. “But listen up. Whatever your game, I just want you to know that… you win! Okay? Congratulations.”

“I’m not playing games, Danny… there’s no win condition between the two of us. Please try to understand me when I say it’s for all of us here, and it’s nothing to do with our personal disagreements.”

“No, no,” Danny continued. “No need to be modest. Enjoy yourself, buddy. Don’t let me get in the way of your good time. You bested me, and I’m man enough to admit defeat.” He patted Sam’s back, and smiled, though Sam still couldn’t see his eyes past the sunglasses.

“Well, uh…” Sam quirked a smile, “thanks, I guess? I still don’t see this as a competition, but I’m happy to see you’re taking it in stride. I think we could be friends, you know?”

Danny chuckled. “Sure. Best buddies. I’ll be seeing you round, space man.”

Sam returned to Marsha’s side, grinning. He couldn’t believe how well everything was going. He should have left his anger and bitterness behind long ago. Ever since he’d been here, it had been so easy to smooth over the bumps in the road with a little empathy and treating others with respect.

The only one who hadn’t responded to such things was Sam B, but he couldn’t expect much from the avatar of his own problematic aspects. He’d really been the only person he’d met this leap that he didn’t get along with. And that made some sense, because he couldn’t stand those parts of himself, that were capable of saying mean things; to think of his own comfort more than that of other people. To be so self-serving that he couldn’t see the opportunities that leaping presented, instead viewing it as some kind of punishment.

“Alright, Al,” Marsha’s voice cut through his reverie, “I got ’em all. Now what are we doing with it? Burning it?”

Sam laughed. “No, the last thing we need is noxious fumes. We need to take it out into the desert and bury it. Off the property.”

Marsha nodded. “Okay. Leave it to me.” She smiled warmly. “I’ll take one of the dune buggies out.”

“You sure, Marsha? I can help if you—”

“That’s sweet, Al, but I can do it. You have plenty of other things to take care of.” She kissed him on the cheek, and slung the sack over her shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

As she left the dome, Sam wondered what he’d done to deserve such cooperative people, and couldn’t help smiling to himself.

He stepped out into the warm air, taking cleansing breaths as he decided on what to do next. He thought a nice brisk shower might be the pick-me-up he needed to continue his work, and headed to Marsha’s tepee to get a change of clothes.

He didn’t think anything of the guy smoking a cigarette near the tepee.

As he pulled open the flap, he noticed that the bed had been made. This was unusual; Marsha was always the last to get up, and she never made the bed. And he sure hadn’t; he’d been busy with other things.

Confused, he let his eyes wander over the bed as he tried to figure out if maybe someone else had made the bed for them as some kind of favour. And he noticed a subtle lump just to the left of his pillow.

He peeled back the covers to find several baggies of various substances nestled in the bed.

What the—?

He gathered them up and headed out of the tepee, but stopped abruptly as he found himself surrounded by several men. The men Danny had been speaking to the previous evening.

“You found that a bit early,” one of the men said, grabbing him by one of his wrists. Another man seized his other wrist.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed. Why would they be doing this?

“Sorry Richie,” one of the men said. “But you’d better come with us.”

Sam frowned. “Why?” He looked down at the drugs, which another of the group were taking out of his hands. “Are these yours?”

“No, Richie. They’re yours. Little gift from Danny.”

“What?”

Sam was trying very hard not to put the pieces together in the way his brain was telling him they should be. After the conversation he’d just had with Danny, why would he plant drugs in his tepee? Especially if he didn’t believe there was going to be a drug raid.

Without the will to fight, he allowed the men to escort him to another tepee which stood alone, away from the hustle and bustle of the commune.

As they tied him up, for the first time this leap he began to feel a little scared.

*        *        *

It had been a few hours since Beeks had cut off his access to the Sams, and Al was feeling mighty edgy. He was sitting out in the desert air at ground level of the Project Quantum Leap complex, sucking on a cigar in an attempt to calm his nerves. He sure hoped Verbena would hurry up.

A squeal from the handlink in his pocket made him jump, and he pulled it out, checking on Ziggy’s notification.

What he saw made his face drain of all colour.

He jumped up, stamping out his cigar, and hurried back into the building. He hurried to the elevator, and punched in a request to Ziggy to notify Verbena of the news. She needed to get Richie to the front. Because Ziggy had just told him that somehow, Sam A had changed history, and now Richie was going to die—and it was only a matter of hours before it happened.

How the hell Sam A had managed that, he had no idea.

As he reached the Control Room, he yelled up to the orb in the ceiling, “Ziggy, gimme more details. How’s Sam A going to die?”

“According to news reports, he will be gunned down by police during a drug raid,” said Ziggy, without much emotion in her voice.

“But the bust isn’t even meant to happen until tomorrow!” He exchanged a frantic look with Gooshie, who was standing at the control panel.

“It appears that little detail has changed, Admiral. Perhaps Doctor Beckett will know why.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks a lot, Ziggy. Have you got a lock on Sam A yet?”

“Not yet, Admiral,” Ziggy replied. “I recommend you join Doctor Beeks in the Waiting Room for the time being.”

Al let his shoulders sag. “Big help, you are. How much longer has Sam got until lights out?”

“The raid occurs at 1600 hours. The current time at the relevant Doctor Beckett’s spatio-temporal coordinates is 14:34.”

Al ran a hand over his face. “Oh, jeez,” he said, before dashing to the Waiting Room.

Chapter 28

Hog Wild

Sam A shifted in his chair, trying to position himself in a way that his bindings weren’t digging into his skin to the point that they might start to draw blood.

He felt the eyes of the three other men in the tepee snap to him as he moved, and he slowly moved his gaze from one to the other, thinking about the conversations he’d had with each of them in the past few days. There had to be a way to get through to these guys. He knew each of their names, and he’d had nothing but pleasant interactions with them, as far as he knew.

“Listen fellas,” he said, “all of this has to be some kind of misunderstanding.”

“Richie, Richie…” said the man near the exit. Blaine, his name was. “If anyone doesn’t understand what’s goin’ on, it’s you.”

Sam frowned. “So help me understand. Why are you doing this?”

“You’re messing with a good thing here, man. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? You got some kind of messiah thing going on… we were gonna leave you to your delusion, but then you started making a grab for power.”

“I didn’t!” Sam protested. “I was just given an opportunity to help, so I took it. I didn’t mean to step on any toes, I swear.” He looked at the closer of the men; a shaggy-haired, bearded man with rosy cheeks. “Zachary—how’s your daughter doing, huh? Karma, right? You know we’re building that classroom so she can learn to read and write…”

“I was in favour of the classroom, Richie,” Zachary said, crossing his arms, “but you crossed a line with the dope.”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam squinted in puzzlement. “But the only reason you’d plant drugs in my lodge…” he licked his lips, trying to understand, “…is if you knew a raid was coming. In which case, you would have gotten rid of your dope anyway. Right? I don’t get it.”

“You were right, spaceman,” Danny said, drawing back the flap and entering. “There was a raid coming. I didn’t believe it at first, but when I spoke to my Pop in the Sheriff’s department, he admitted it. To think he was about to shut down everything I’ve built here. I think he wants to use his land for somethin’ else, so he was happy to get his only child thrown in the clink. Humph. Lousy pig.”

“So you knew? You knew there was a raid coming?” Sam said, eyes wide. “So why… why are you doing this to me when you knew I was right?”

Casually, Danny lit up a cigarette and blew a puff of smoke into Sam’s face.

“Well, you had to know for a reason, Richie. Got connections you’re not tellin’ us about?” He smirked, raising his cigarette, wedged between his index and middle fingers, above his head. “Or did you hear it from the mothership?”

The other men chuckled at this. Clearly, not all the members of the commune had been convinced of Sam’s extraterrestrial status.

Before Sam had a chance to answer, Danny continued. “At any rate, with all your talk, you gave me an idea. I wanted you outta here. There was a raid comin’. So I figured I’d plant a few things on you and call in a tip. Well, you stumbled on it a little early, but that’s okay. They won’t be much longer. You’ll be out of my hair soon.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I… I thought we were friends.”

Danny burst into laughter. “Richie, for a guy who built that impressive generator out there, you’re kind of a moron. I always thought it took a shrewd, crafty kind of person to convince a bunch of people to believe he’s magic, but it looks like you’re the exception. Not everyone is as naive as you, man. I saw right through your crap from the start.”

Sam bit his lip, realising that he’d had the wool pulled over his eyes. He’d wanted to believe that everyone here had good intentions. Wanted it so much that he hadn’t been nearly as observant as he should have been.

At that moment, the Imaging Chamber door slid open, depositing Al in the middle of the space.

“Sam, I got bad news—whoa!” He spun in a circle, taking in the scene. “What the hell happened? Who tied you up?”

Isn’t it kind of obvious at this point? he wanted to say, but kept his mouth shut, merely giving Al a look of defeat.

“But listen,” Danny continued, putting a hand in his pocket and rummaging around. He produced a syringe filled with some yellowish liquid. “I completely admit that you have quite a silver tongue. You’ve got charisma, Richie. People want to trust you. You’re… well-spoken. Too well-spoken.”

“Who is this guy?” Al asked, before spotting the needle. “Oh god, Sam, what is that he’s got?” Al leaned over, inspecting the mysterious substance. “Don’t let him inject you with that—it could be anything! You gotta fight him off! Ziggy says the cops are coming, and they’re gonna shoot you, Sam. You have to get out of here!”

Sam swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he watched Danny preparing the needle. Meanwhile, Zachary tied a bandanna tightly around his bicep.

But what could he do? His hands and feet were tied down. And even if he could get free, he just didn’t want to hurt anyone. He couldn’t. All he could do was try and talk his way out of the predicament. The pen was mightier than the sword, right? Or in this case, the tongue was mightier than the fist.

“Don’t look so scared,” Danny said as he inspected Sam’s arm for a vein. “This won’t kill you or nothin’. I’ve tried it myself, and man, it’s a trip. You never know, maybe you’ll have a good time.”

“What is it?” Sam asked shakily.

“The dealer calls it ‘hog,’” he replied.

“Hog?” Al tapped at the handlink frantically. “Oh boy. I think he might be giving you PCP, Sam.”

“PCP?!” Sam exclaimed, squirming in his seat as the needle drew close. He knew that PCP was well-known for being one of the more dangerous street drugs. People on it were known to do some unhinged, unpredictable things. He didn’t want it anywhere near him.

“Uh, yeah,” Danny said, grinning. “PCP—I think that’s what the narcs call it. Just relax, Richie. It’s only so you can’t talk your way out of being arrested. You’ll feel good, too.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said. “I’ll even give myself up. Please don’t put that in me.”

Danny grinned. “Don’t think you’re in much of a position to negotiate, buddy. Happy trails, man.”

With the help of the other men, keeping his arm still, Danny stuck the needle into Sam’s vein.

“Oh no, Sam!” Al cried out.

“Get Sam B!” Sam said pointedly to him.

“There’s no time! You’re gonna die long before he’d get here!”

“Sam B?” Danny said, raising an eyebrow. “Who?” He stroked his chin. “Are you talking to the Great Gazoo or somethin’? That would explain a few things.”

“Or something,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes.

Danny finished his injection, and pulled the needle out with a shrug.

“Well, I’m sure you and your alien pals will have lots to discuss once this kicks in.”

“You know what, Danny?” Sam said with a frown, “You’re kind of a jerk.”

Al clawed at his hair. “King of the understatement, you are.” He crouched, lowering himself to Sam’s level. “Hang in there, Sam. Ziggy says the cops shoot Richie during the raid ’cause he’s acting erratic. So all you gotta do when they arrive is sit here and not do anything. Okay? If you don’t try to move, they’ll just see you as mega stoned or something.”

“Okay…” Sam said, as his perception slowly started to shift, as if the ground beneath him was turning on its side.

Despite himself, he still felt like he could talk himself out of this situation, and he lifted his suddenly very heavy head to Danny.

“Danny… if you wanted me to leave, you could have just asked,” he said. “It’s not too late. I’ll go.”

Danny snorted. “But it is too late. Once this stuff kicks in all the way, you won’t even know where you are. So forget it. Just relax. No point fighting it now.”

Danny nodded to his friends, and they moved to Sam, untying him and standing him up.

“What are you doing with me now?” Sam asked, finding himself leaning on one of the men—for some reason, he could no longer remember what the guy’s name was.

He was roughly pushed, stumbling towards the exit of the tepee.

“We’re gonna go show everyone what’s become of their star child,” Danny said, and Sam looked down to see him extinguishing his cigarette on Sam’s arm. He barely felt it.

“I’m here, Sam. Okay?” Al’s voice insisted, but Sam wasn’t sure where his voice was coming from. He was too busy trying to will his legs to move, so they would stop dragging on the ground.

Chapter 29

Head Trip

Richie sat alone on the hospital bed, legs crossed as he meditated. He still felt sick as a dog, but he thought that maybe tapping into the higher planes of the universe might mellow him out a little.

The weird Doctor lady had somehow turned off his psychic communication with Bobby, which bummed him out a lot. He had finally begun to convince his brother that his spiritual awakening was worth a damn, even if he hadn’t made any progress with his brother on the topic of his decision to resist the draft. But now it was all quiet in his head.

Maybe he could reconnect on his own, he thought. Now that he understood that it was something he was capable of.

He thought about how the doctor always seemed to be able to make him feel all mixed up. It wasn’t just confusion, it was… almost like she was making him think he was Bobby. Like she was taking his and Bobby’s mind and cutting them together like tobacco and mary jane. It was wild.

Could he do it himself? Well, there was only one way to find out. He thought long and hard about his brother, imagining himself in Bobby’s straight-laced boots.

“I’m Bobby,” he said, trying to get in character. “I’m a stick-in-the-mud blowhard who looks down on people for thinking differently to the mainstream. I have a nagging wife called Brenda who voted for Nixon. I drive a bland white Chevy and live in the suburbs. I love war. War is the best. I’m a big tough military boy now and I want a big boy gun to shoot at people in their own country.”

Well, he wasn’t exactly being empathetic about his twin. It didn’t seem to be changing his thoughts the way the doctor had. He guessed he was going about this the wrong way.

But then, a small, but familiar, voice piped up in the back of his mind.

Is that really what you think of me…?

“Bobby?”

No, it’s Santa Claus, ya dope. Of course it’s me.

“Welcome to the party!” Richie grinned. “So, am I wrong? About you, I mean.”

Assuming partial control of the shared body, Bobby scowled. “I don’t love war, jerk.”

Richie uncrossed and stretched his legs. “Then why didn’t you come with me to the commune?”

“Because I face things like a man, okay? I’m no coward.” Bobby pouted.

Richie lay back on the bed, feeling a lump forming in his throat. “Being against this war is not cowardly, Bobby. Do you know how many people have been killed over there? For nothing?”

“It’s not for nothing. We’re fighting communism.”

“Well, I don’t want to fight communism. It’s not fair that our own government should force us into dying for a cause we don’t even necessarily understand or believe in.” Richie wiped away tears from his eyes. “And I don’t want you to come home in a casket, especially if it’s pointless. I love you, okay? You big jerk.”

“You… you do? Even though I called you a coward?”

“I admit, it hurts. But you’re my brother. I don’t care that we disagree, I just wish you understood where I’m comin’ from, man.”

“Richie…” Bobby moved his right hand to his left and held it, as if they weren’t hands that were part of the same body. “I guess… I love you too. You damn strung-out hippie.”

And in a strange instant, it was as though they were one person, and they understood one another on a level that neither had ever imagined before. Suddenly, they were completely synchronised, and at peace. Despite the differing points of view, they became fully aware of the other’s perspective and their misunderstandings dissipated like mist.

You really do care about me…

You really are willing to die for the country…

You’re not a coward.

You gotta do what you gotta do.

The nausea and headache lifted, and they felt… well, as ‘normal’ as two physically and psychologically blended brothers could be.

A moment later, a disembodied voice echoed from the ceiling of the room.

“Terribly sorry to interrupt your couples therapy,” said the sultry woman’s voice, “but whatever you just did, Misters Deleon, I’d like it if you kept it up, if that is at all possible. It appears to have solved the problems I have been encountering in our Imaging systems.”

“Who are you?” the twins asked, looking upward in confusion. They had no clue what she was talking about, but they could certainly stay like this for a while. They hadn’t felt so well in days.

“Call me… Ziggy Stardust,” she said, with a hint of amusement lacing her otherwise emotionless voice.

*        *        *

(As the previous scene’s events were playing out…)

One foot in front of the other, was all Sam A could think about until he became aware that he’d been taken indoors somewhere.

He wasn’t sure what kind of indoors, except that there were a lot of people around him. Faces he thought he probably should recognise, but he didn’t. They seemed to blend together into a single mass of judgemental eyes staring at him.

He was roughly thrown to the floor by those guys from before, whoever they were. Why were they treating him this way? It wasn’t very nice.

“Okay, Sam—listen to me,” said Al’s voice, “Just stay right there and don’t move, okay? No matter what happens, just stay put unless I tell you.”

“Yeah, okay Al,” he muttered. Staying put sounded like a good idea. He barely had any perception of what his limbs were doing, so he was probably better off not using them. “No problem.”

He was fairly sure he was sitting on the floor now, hunched over. His attempt to straighten his neck resulted in overcompensation, and he fell back, flailing his hand out to keep from toppling over.

He lifted his head back to a semi-straight position, and finally spotted Al, who was looking down at him with deep concern.

“It’s alright,” he reassured his friend. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“Well, you may feel okay, but you’re in big trouble,” said Al, tapping at his handlink. “So just remember what I told you.”

What did he tell me?

Someone else talking drifted into his perception. Danny, was it? Yeah, it sounded like him. Sam leaned toward the voice, trying to focus on what he was saying.

“—Making all of us give up our stash, only to get high on your confiscated dope!”

What?

“I didn’t,” Sam protested. “It wasn’t me…” Sam pointed at Danny, as he felt eyes on him from every direction. “He did.”

Danny turned to him with a smirk. “I did what, Al?”

Al? Sam looked up at his friend in confusion. He didn’t realise these people could see him, but here they were asking him a question.

“He means you, Sam,” Al said.

“Me what?”

“Oh boy.” Al ran a hand over his face. “Tell them—”

At that moment, Al flickered and disappeared.

Sam reached out a hand to the empty space where he’d been.

“No… come back…”

“This is a star child?” Danny continued, laughing. “He can’t even answer a simple question. Face it, Richie was lying to us.” Danny leaned down to Sam, grinning. “Isn’t that so, Richie?”

Sam stared back blankly. Whoever Richie was, it wasn’t him. He figured he’d wait for whoever that guy was to reply.

In the meantime, he busied himself trying to make the floor stop turning. He was vaguely aware of conversation happening around him, but it wasn’t making much sense to him.

Somewhere in the mix was Marsha’s voice, which sounded distressed. It got louder and louder until a hand on his cheek made him realise that she was crouched beside him. She said something to him, but he didn’t realise it until after the words were spoken, so he didn’t catch what they were.

“What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Al, what happened? I swear I took all of the drugs away. How did you end up like this?!”

Sam frowned, trying to formulate a coherent sentence. “He shot the… the hog?”

“Who?”

“Uh, Danny. In a yellow needle.” He wasn’t sure if he was putting his message across, but he barrelled on. “Now I can taste metal… I think I might die soon, but… I have to stay here until Al comes back.”

Marsha looked at him with deep confusion. “Al, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Sam sighed, shutting his eyes. “I know. That was the point.”

And then some music drifted to his ears from somewhere across the room, distracting him from the conversation at hand.

“Good morning star shine… the Earth says hello…”

And then the sound of something slamming. Sam scanned the room, and his eyes finally rested on… Me?

“You twinkle above us, we twinkle below…”

He watched himself stride into the room, and the crowd around him parted like the Red Sea. Except a few guys didn’t move out of the way, and Sam started hitting them in the stomach with a plank of wood. He idly wondered how he could be doing that when he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to get up. And in fact he could still feel the floor under his hand. Well, maybe he could do both.

“Good morning star shine, you lead us along…”

As the men fell to the floor, Sam approached himself, extending a hand.

“Come on, we gotta get out of here.”

“My love and me as we sing, our early morning singin’ song…”

With confusion, he felt himself being raised from the floor, even though he could see himself already standing up.

“But Al told me not to move…”

“Change of plans,” came Al’s voice. “Get going, Sam.”

“Oh. Alright.”

“Gliddy glup gloopy, nibby nabby noopy la la la lo lo…”

The lyrics of the song were about as coherent as anything else Sam was currently experiencing, so he paid it no mind.

He still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to beat up those guys when he couldn’t even walk straight, but he guessed he’d figure that one out later.

Chapter 30

Rehash

Several minutes earlier (again)…

As Sam A was being pulled into the dome, Al was following closely behind, not knowing what to do next. He’d been such an idiot, not paying any attention to this place—he had no idea what was going on. He hadn’t even bothered to look up the names of anyone here, because Sam A had seemed to be on top of everything.

Al was kicking himself.

Sam was thrust to the floor in front of the stage area, and Al watched as curious residents began to gather around the mustachioed guy and his goons. Without knowing the guy’s name, he was unable to look up anything about him. All he knew was that he had to get Sam to yield to the cops when they arrived in about twenty minutes.

“Okay, Sam—listen to me,” he said, “just stay right there and don’t move, okay? No matter what happens, just stay put unless I tell you.”

Sam, whose eyes were glazed over, nodded loosely. “Yeah, okay Al. No problem.” He spoke without urgency; like times past when he’d been neck deep in equations at the Project, and absent-mindedly agreed to join Al for lunch, only to get too absorbed in his work to realise that time was slipping by, and miss it entirely.

The guy with the stache and sunglasses stepped onto the stage as the crowds finished gathering.

“Friends and comrades,” he said, smirking. “Get a load of this sorry sight.”

Sam leaned back suddenly, and extended a hand out to steady himself before finally seeming to notice that Al was standing right in front of him. “It’s alright. I’m okay. Don’t worry.” He waved his free hand at Al with a half smile.

Al grimaced as he checked the handlink for any new data. “Well, you may feel okay, but you’re in big trouble. So just remember what I told you.”

“Our spaceman here,” Moustache Guy continued, “is a hypocrite and a thief. Making all of us give up our stash, only to get high on your confiscated dope!”

A murmur spread through the crowd.

“You dirty liar,” Al spat. “Where do you get off?”

“I didn’t!” Sam cried out. “It wasn’t me…”

Al gestured to his friend. “You tell ’em, Sam!”

A dazed Sam pointed a finger vaguely towards Moustache Guy. “He did.”

“I did what, Al?”

Sam looked to Al, a deeply puzzled expression on his face, and Al realised that their assumed name for him was a little more than he could process at that moment.

“He means you, Sam.”

Sam stared at him a moment, mouth hanging open. He furrowed his brow. “Me what?”

“Oh boy…”

Jeez, is he out of it. I’m gonna need to tell him what to say.

“Tell them—”

But that was as much as he was able to get out before the hologram glitched out. A moment later, he found himself alongside a familiar white Chevy as Sam B emerged onto a desert road.

“Sam…? Where are—”

Taking a moment to get his bearings, he realised he could see the colourful dome just fifty feet away.

“Oh, look who the cat dragged in,” Sam B said, crossing his arms. “Where have you been all day, huh? You weren’t around to talk me out of coming here, so I’m taking that as a tacit endorsement of my actions.”

Al couldn’t believe his luck. “You know what, I’ll give you this one,” he said hastily. “But you’ve gotta save your twin. He’s in trouble, Sam.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘in trouble?’ What, did he run out of nails or somethin’?” He gestured, chuckling, towards the bones of what must have been the structure that Sam had been working on, just beside the dome.

“No, Sam. He made a few enemies, looks like. And they’ve got him all drugged up. The cops are on their way as we speak to bust him and they’re gonna kill him. You gotta take him away!”

“Kill him?!” Sam B’s cool demeanour shifted to fear. “Dammit.”

He jumped into action, running toward the construction site, and snatching up a two-by-four. Meanwhile, Al watched a dune buggy pull up by the dome, carrying the woman that Sam A had turned down the other night. She went inside just as Sam B was emerging from the classroom’s frame.

“He’s in the dome, Sam!” Al called, before following the woman through the door.

Inside, he spotted the woman crouching beside Sam A, as Good Morning Starshine began to play from a record player.

Moustache Guy was continuing to address the crowd.

“If this really is a psychic alien meant to guide us all to the New Age, then surely he could prove himself, even through his little trip, right?” He leaned over Sam A with a mocking smile. “Come on, spaceman. Show us your powers. Impress me.”

As the peaceful melody from the record player drifted through the dome, the door burst open, revealing Sam B and his wooden plank resting in his palm.

“Listen up, hippies! Step aside and nobody gets hurt.”

The bewildered crowd of people stared at him a moment as they realised who they were looking at. And then they all stepped back, leaving an opening to the stage where Sam A and Richie’s apparent girlfriend were cowering.

All except for the goons that had brought him in here, and Moustache Guy.

Al cheered Sam B on as he barrelled towards the goons, and easily knocked them aside with the plank, making them double over as it connected with their stomachs.

He reached Moustache Guy and held the plank like a baseball bat. “I suggest you move.”

Moustache Guy was silent for a moment, taking in what had just happened. Then he stepped aside, looking down at Sam A.

“Touché,” he said quietly.

“Great work!” Al shouted. “Now get Sam A and let’s scram already!”

Sam B held his hand out to his double. “Come on, we gotta get out of here.”

He grabbed his counterpart’s hand and pulled him up with the help of the girlfriend.

“But Al told me not to move…” Sam A muttered, looking entirely overwhelmed by the situation.

“Change of plans,” Al said. “Get going, Sam.”

“Oh. Alright.”

As Sam A seemed to gain his footing—tentative as it may have been—the girlfriend looked from one Sam to the other, her eyes wide. “What’s… uh, happening… exactly?”

“Alien magic,” Sam B said brusquely, before turning back to Moustache Guy. “You the one who drugged him up?”

“Yeah, and he put out a cigarette on his arm, too,” Al said.

Sam B’s eyes narrowed to slits. “It’s… Danny, isn’t it?”

Danny? Al thought, and quickly entered the name into the handlink to see if it produced any results.

Danny nodded, looking far less relaxed than he had been mere minutes prior.

Sam B smiled at him—the kind of smile that Sam only got when he was about to do something satisfyingly painful for the other person—and slammed a fist into his eye, breaking his sunglasses and leaving him sprawled on the floor.

He turned to the crowd, giving the peace sign with his fingers. “Sorry to commit violence in the presence of so many hippies,” he said, tugging on Sam A’s arm as he moved to guide him out, “but sometimes there’s no time to talk it out. You all have a good night, now.”

With that, he led Sam A out of the dome, with the girlfriend helping support the unsteady space cadet. As they reached the exit, Sam B paused, looking back.

“I can’t stand this song.” And then he was gone.

Al lingered a moment, looking down at the punch-drunk Danny as Ziggy came back with some information. He checked the handlink and chuckled.

“Your Daddy owns this ranch, huh? And he’s a cop? Boy, you better hope you get some special treatment once he gets here.” He looked around at the other hippies, who were looking at each other, trying to process what had just transpired. A moment later, one of them—a short girl with pigtails—moved to Danny.

“I can’t believe you would drug Al!” She kicked him in the stomach with her bare foot. “That’s for questioning the powers of the star child, asshole.”

Chapter 31

Road to Recovery

“Come on, get in the car,” Sam B commanded as he opened the passenger side door.

What a damn mess this was. This was by far the last thing he expected to find when he got here, that was for sure.

The woman who’d been helping Sam A helped him into the seat, and looked nervously at Sam B. For some reason, he knew that she was named Marsha. It was one of many times he’d seemed to have known something his counterpart did. Well, they were two parts of the same mind, he supposed. There must have been some kind of information exchange going on between them, like the time his mind got mixed up with that cop.

“Who are you, man?” the girl asked, her face pale.

Sam laughed. “Didn’t Richie ever tell you he had a twin?”

Marsha shook her head silently.

“Well,” he continued, as he fastened Sam A’s seat belt, “he does. And I’m him.” He stood, and extended a hand to her. “I’m Bobby.”

Marsha studied his face as she shook his hand. “Are you… you know—also like Al?”

“An alien, you mean?” Sam stifled a laugh. “Sure. Something like that. Why not.”

He scooted around to the driver’s side of the car, opening the door.

“Then is Bobby your name, or just the name of Richie’s brother…?” Marsha pressed.

“Uh, his brother,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. “I guess you can call me Sam if you want. Since it’s not taken.” He climbed into the car, only for Marsha to open the back door and move to get in with them. “Hey, I never said you could come along.”

“We gotta go, Sam,” Al was now in the other side of the back seat, looking frantic. “Take her or not, but—vamoose! Muoviti!”

“I don’t want to leave him like this…” Marsha said, her eyes wide and worried as she leaned forward and wiped the drool from Sam A’s mouth with her sleeve. “He needs a sitter.”

Sam B turned the key in the ignition, looking at Marsha in the rear view mirror. “I’ll take care of him. I’m a doctor. You go back and take care of things here. The cops are coming, you know.”

Marsha processed this for a moment. “Al said they were coming tomorrow night…”

“Well, looks like the process was expedited,” Sam B replied with a frown. “Now go on. We’ll come back when my brother here is a little more—shall we say—eloquent.”

Marsha sighed. “Alright. Be safe… Al and Sam.”

She reluctantly climbed back out of the car, and shut the door. Sam immediately sped away, having little time to spare. When the cloud of sand dispersed, he saw in his mirrors that Marsha was returning to the dome.

Sam stole a glance at his double in the passenger’s seat, whose cheeks were flushed as he stared into the distance with vacant eyes.

“You okay there, Mister Perfect?”

Sam A was slow to react. “Hmm?” He squinted at Sam B, then out at the road. “I really don’t think I should be driving.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh…” A look of confusion passed over his face, before his head rolled to one side and he stared idly out the window.

“Ziggy says he’ll be loopy like this for at least six more hours,” Al said. “He’ll be sobered up in about ten to twelve.”

“Great,” Sam B moaned. “So I’ve gotta babysit him until morning? I’m getting a bit tired of sacrificing my sleep for other people.”

“Hey, you could have brought that hippie chick along and divided the work.” Al shrugged. “Of course, you wouldn’t have been able to talk to me much.”

“Yeah, well, I can handle it,” Sam said through a deep sigh. “I’m just gonna complain a lot.”

“Nothing new then,” Al said, chuckling. After a moment, his expression faded into a frown. “So, uh, you plan on explaining what you’re doing in Arizona, when you’re supposed to be reporting for duty in San Diego tomorrow? Not that I’m not grateful you showed up…”

Sam gave him a casual shrug. “Most effective way of keeping Bobby from getting killed in Vietnam is to not go to Vietnam. So I came out here to join the hippies. You got a problem with that?”

“Uh, yes!” Al said, a look of disbelief on his face. “What about Brenda and the baby, Sam? And Bobby’s gonna be in big trouble for deserting. You’ve gotta get back there by morning.”

“I cut my losses,” Sam said bitterly. “I was getting nowhere. That baby just isn’t meant to be, and I just couldn’t take it any more.” He held out a pinched thumb and index finger. “I’m this close to losing it, okay? Don’t push me, Al. I mean it.”

Al shut his mouth. For a while thereafter, all Sam could hear was the car’s roaring engine accompanied by Al tapping at the handlink as it popped and whirred.

Then the tense silence was broken by Sam A, pulling at his seat belt. “Where is this?”

“Arizona desert,” Sam B replied.

“Is that why it’s so hot?”

Sam B eyed his duplicate, seeing that he was absolutely pouring with sweat. “I think it’s the drug that jerk gave you. What was it, anyway?”

“PCP,” Al chimed in grimly. “He injected it.”

“Oh boy…” Sam muttered. “Who knows what could be happening in that head of his?” He pulled over to the side of the long, empty stretch of road, and parked the car. “Wanna take a breather, Sam?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want some fresh air?”

“Oh, uh, yeah I guess,” he said, looking at Sam B at the wheel. “I shouldn’t be driving anyway… I’m on drugs, I think.”

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “Like I said before, you’re not driving. I’m driving.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t be,” Sam A argued, leaving Sam B to furrow his brow, wondering what he was trying to say.

“I think he’s getting confused,” said Al. “When he looks at you he’s seeing himself, so he thinks he’s doing the things you’re doing. Ziggy says it’s because the drug is disco—disco…?” he smacked the side of the handlink. “Oh, dis-so-cia-tive. Dissociative. He’s having trouble with knowing where his body ends and others begin.”

“So what, he thinks he’s having some kind of out-of-body experience?”

“Maybe,” Al hedged.

Sam climbed out of the car, and opened Sam A’s door, helping him to his feet.

“Is the breeze out here better for you?” he asked his doped-up double.

Sam A leaned against the car, not seeming to have registered the question. He shielded his bloodshot eyes from the sun, and a dopey, vacant smirk found its way onto his face as he looked out into the desolate expanse. He held that pose for a minute or two, his hand slowly drifting downward until it wasn’t shielding anything, and he squinted instead.

“It’s too bright,” he commented, screwing up his nose. “It’ll scare the coyotes.”

What coyotes?

Al emerged from the car, phasing through the white door. “You ought to get some water for him, Sam. Maybe check into a motel somewhere. He could get heatstroke out here.”

Sam B nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He clapped a hand to Sam A’s shoulder. “You ready to keep going?”

“Going? Going where?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Somewhere safer than the middle of nowhere.”

Sam A nodded his head rapidly. “Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, waving a hand out to the desert. “I don’t really like the way that cactus is lookin’ at Al.”

Chapter 32

Uncomfortably Numb

It wasn’t exactly a five-star resort, but Sam B hadn’t come prepared with much cash on hand, given that he’d left without preparation, and was expecting to join a commune. The motel, though, was adequate for a night that promised him precious little sleep anyway.

Sam reclined in the uncomfortable bed, hands cushioning his head, as he watched his counterpart carefully, offering him water every so often.

Sam A was sitting on the floor; for some reason, he had rejected attempts to put him in a bed, preferring to use the bed as his back rest as he stared with half-open eyes at a blank wall.

Well, at least he didn’t seem to be causing trouble. A minor victory.

Sam B turned to Al, who was frowning down at the inebriated Sam. “I can’t believe he got into that much trouble,” he mused, shaking his head. “How did it happen, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Al replied, a guilty look on his face. “I should’ve been checking in with him more often. I was sure everything was going great here.”

“He had you fooled, huh?”

“I think he was fooling himself.”

Sam snorted. “You know, he did seem pretty naive. Oblivious. I guess he didn’t notice things were going south ’til it was too late.”

Al lit up a cigar, nodding. “I told you, he’s not as perfect as you thought. He needs you.”

Sam’s gaze moved to the yellow-stained ceiling. “A part of himself that doesn’t always think the best of people, huh?” His lips curled into a wry smile. “The second I laid eyes on Danny, I could tell he was a jerkoff.”

“Yeah,” agreed Al, “what the hell kinda guy wears shades indoors?”

“Someone who wants to hide their lying eyes.” Sam flicked a glance at his twin. “Yeah, I guess I do have some value after all.”

“Not to mention the way you kicked those guys’ butts,” Al added, poking his cigar towards Sam A. “I don’t think he woulda been in a position to be drugged if he had that kind of fight in him. Those hippies went down like sacks of potatoes.”

Sam B laughed. “Yeah, they really were easy to take down. Probably never been in a fight in their lives. Cakewalk.”

Al met his eye. “And that’s why the Big Cheese picked you to be Bobby. He needed your chutzpah.”

Sam sat up in the bed, frowning. “If ‘the Big Cheese’ wanted me to go to Vietnam, then why did he make me so anxious about it, huh? I honestly can’t express to you how terrified I’ve been, Al. It’s like I’m treading water, and drowning is inevitable unless I get out of the ocean. So that’s exactly what I did.”

Al tapped at his handlink, face grim. “Well, Ziggy says that if you don’t report for duty tomorrow, you’re gonna get Bobby brought up on charges for desertion and draft-dodging, while Brenda loses the baby, divorces Bobby, and drinks herself to death in eight years. Do you want that on your conscience, Sam?”

Sam let himself drop back down on the bed, and stuffed a pillow over his face. “Al… I can’t deal with it, okay? I tried, and I failed, and I can’t face it any more. Have Ziggy run the numbers on Bobby hiding out at the commune.”

“Sam, Bobby wants to go to war. He’s not going to stay there, even if you force the issue. Kid prides himself on not being a coward.”

“Well, I am, okay? If that’s not what God or Time or Fate wants, then why did he split us up and leave me with all the fear and pessimism?” He threw the pillow down and got to his feet. “I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t follow me this time.”

Turning away from the distraught Observer, he stormed into the grungy bathroom, closing the door and staring at Bobby in the filthy mirror.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said to the reflection. “I did as much as I could. A ruined life is still better than no life at all, right?”

But he knew deep down that he was trying to convince himself more than Bobby, who couldn’t hear him.

*        *        *

Sam A wasn’t sure whether he’d been asleep or just spaced out, but when the world around him came into focus, it was dark, and his head was against a hard, musty-smelling floor. His eyes caught the motion of what may have been a cockroach in the dim light. Or it may have been a hallucination; he’d seen a few of those, he realised now.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his tired eyes as he tried to piece together the last god-knows-how-many hours.

“Hey there, Sam. You back with us?” Al’s voice asked. Sam turned his head towards the voice, and saw his friend’s silhouette by the window, the smouldering end of his cigar lighting up orange as he inhaled.

“Mm. Maybe. What time is it?” he asked, unsteadily climbing to his feet. It occurred to him that he had no idea where he was, except that it seemed to be some kind of motel room. “And where are we?”

“It’s one in the morning, and you’re in Wellton,” Al replied. “A bit east of the commune.”

“Oh…” Sam sat on the bed he’d been lying next to, noting that Sam B was sleeping in an adjacent bed.

“He was gonna stay up all night to watch you, you know,” Al said. “I told him to get some shut-eye and I’d wake him if you took a turn.”

Sam A rubbed his chin, looking with wide eyes at his double. “He… saved me… didn’t he?”

“Oh, he saved you alright,” confirmed Al. “Gave Danny a good shiner to boot. You’d have been toast if he hadn’t shown up.”

“Huh.” Despite the situation, Sam A felt rather… content. Intellectually, he knew it was probably the afterglow of the PCP, but he relaxed on the bed, smiling as he thought about how even with his mistake, things had still gone his way. It felt as though the universe really had his back. “What brought him there? Was it the connection we have?”

“Connection?”

“Yeah. Connection. We kind of… know some things the other knows.”

“Oh, is that how Sam B knew Danny’s name?”

Sam A furrowed his brow as he struggled to recall what had happened. “Uh, if he knew it, then yeah I guess. I don’t remember.”

Sam rubbed his hands together; one thing he could remember was that they had felt largely numb throughout his experience. That’s when he spotted the bandage around his arm. He inspected it with a frown.

“That’s where he burned you with the cigarette,” Al explained. “The damn nozzle. Deserved the punch, and the kick in the guts that girl gave him after you left, too.”

“What girl?”

“I dunno, she was short. Auburn hair about yay length in pigtails.” He held a hand at his collar bone to demonstrate.

Sam grinned. “Alicia.”

She’d been smitten with Danny, if he recalled correctly. Well, that spell appeared well and truly broken now. He wondered about the rest of the commune. Did they understand what had happened? Would they stand by Danny? And if not, what would they do with him?

“We need to go back to the ranch,” he said quietly.

“You do, yes,” Al said. “Tie up some loose ends with Danny and his goons. Your other half, however, needs to get back to San Diego before he misses his flight.”

“He doesn’t want to go back, does he?”

Al shook his head. “Guy’s petrified. He came to the commune to join it, not because he sensed you were in trouble.” He took a drag on his cigar and sighed, letting the smoke billow from his lips. “He’s been trying, he really has. But it’s all too much for him. I don’t know what to do.”

Sam A smiled sadly as he watched Sam B sleeping, his brow furrowed and dotted with beads of sweat. He looked as though he was having a nightmare.

Well, maybe, he thought, he could repay the favour.

Chapter 33

Peace and Love and Curses

Yawning, Al wandered out of the Imaging Chamber. Both Sams now seemed okay, and they were both getting some sleep, so he figured he might be able to squeeze a quick nap in as well. This had been a long damn leap.

His hopes of stealing off to his quarters for an hour or two were regrettably dispersed as he ambled to the bottom of the ramp and found that Verbena was waiting for him expectantly.

“What is it, Beeks?” he grumbled, rubbing his stiff neck.

“You’ll never guess what happened in the Waiting Room,” she said excitedly, taking him by the wrist. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Al sighed. “Alright, but this better be important. I need a nap… and maybe a quickie with Tina. Sam A just spent the last eight hours tripping on PCP, and I’m beat.”

At this, Verbena’s eyebrows rose. “PCP? Really?! I wouldn’t have thought any version of Sam would do something like that.”

“It wasn’t voluntary,” Al replied flatly.

“Oh, I see,” Verbena said, her enthusiasm flickering out like a candle. “Well, I only need a minute or two. Come on.”

She led him to the Waiting Room, and as the door slid open, Al saw the miraculous sight of the visitor pacing the room, sipping at a juice box. He stopped as he noticed Al, and gave a sharp salute.

“Admiral, sir,” he said, standing at attention.

Al’s jaw dropped, and he glanced at Verbena, who looked like the cat that got the cream.

“Uh, at ease,” he said to the kid, and watched as he smiled and resumed drinking his juice. Al gave Verbena a questioning look. “He’s not sick any more? How did you do it?”

Verbena chuckled. “Actually, he was like this when I got here earlier.” She leaned to his ear. “It’s both of them. They somehow reached a state of stability by talking to one another. And now their minds appear to be blended together entirely.”

“Blended?” Al gawked at her. “It’s not permanent, is it?”

Verbena shrugged. “I don’t know. This is new territory.” She stepped up to the twins. “Mister Deleon? How are you feeling?”

“We’re okay,” he said, giving her a polite smile. “When do we get to go home? We wanna see Brenda before Bobby ships out.”

The unorthodox way of speaking made Al feel like he was having a weird dream. Considering they still expected Bobby to go to war, it seemed that the two of them were convinced that this state wasn’t permanent, so that was a good sign.

“I suspect it shouldn’t be too long now,” Verbena said vaguely. “But we have to retain you a little longer for observation. Okay?”

This made the twins deflate, but seem to accept their fate. “Okay, doctor,” they said with a sigh. “But thanks for helping us. We haven’t seen eye to eye in a while, so this has been… healing for us.”

Verbena took the twins by the hands. “You’re welcome, boys.”

Al couldn’t help but wonder what this could mean for the Imaging Chamber. He’d had a signal, but it might only have been due to both Sams being in close vicinity of each other. That was due to change shortly. He grabbed Verbena’s shoulder and pulled her towards him.

“Listen, can you do your psychiatrist mumbo jumbo to undo this? I still need to get a hold of both Sams when they separate again.”

“That won’t be necessary, Admiral,” Gooshie’s voice chimed in from the doorway. “Whatever it was that happened here completely resolved the problems, according to Ziggy. She’s asking to keep them like this until the end of the leap.”

“Really?” Al frowned. “I hope that doesn’t cause the twins any problems, staying like this for all that time.”

“On the contrary,” Verbena said, gesturing to the visitor. “Just look at them. They’ve got an equilibrium going, and I think it would be dangerous to break it. In this state, all their vitals are optimal, and as you can see, they even have an appetite.”

“Well, okay then,” Al conceded. “I guess we’re all good here. I’m gonna go grab a snooze.”

It seemed like everything was falling into place. Almost too well. It might have been his imagination, but he had a hinky feeling the other shoe was about to drop; and that feeling, he suspected, would prevent him from sleeping.

*        *        *

The sky in the window had just barely begun to bloom with the light of dawn when Sam B jolted awake from his amorphous nightmares, heart pounding. He groaned, wiping the sweat away, and sat up to stretch.

It had been quite a harrowing evening and night. After watching his other half take leave of his senses for hours, Al had sent him to sleep with the promise that he’d be awoken if anything happened with Sam A—evidently, nothing had. That was a relief. But he figured he would need to do some routine health checks on his double, to make sure he was recovering okay.

Huh?

He moved his gaze around the motel room in confusion. When he’d fallen asleep, Sam A and Al had been here in the room with him.

Now he was alone.

He climbed to his feet, and checked the bathroom. Nothing there. He checked under the beds—nope.

Had Sam A gone for a wander into the night in his stupor? Why hadn’t Al been here to stop him? Or maybe he was with him now, trying to coax him back to the motel. But he should have sobered up by now. Maybe he had passed out somewhere in the cold desert night. Sam’s stomach churned with the thought.

And then, he spotted the folded up paper on the side table next to the door. Sam’s stomach sank as he crossed to it and snatched it up. Yup—Sam A had written him another letter. Would it be another exercise in condescension from his ‘better’ half? Or had he learned his lesson now, perhaps?

On the other hand, there had to be a reason he’d left this letter in lieu of being here. And the implications made panic rise in Sam’s chest.

He sat on his bed and flipped open the page, eyeing it with suspicion.

“Dear Sam,
First I want to thank you for helping me. I made an error of judgement and paid dearly. If you hadn’t been there, I may well be dead today, or at the very least in jail. You really saved my bacon.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. Maybe Sam A appreciated him after all. But that still didn’t explain why he wasn’t here. He read on.

“Al told me that you weren’t able to fix things with Brenda, and that you were planning to flee your military service. I should never have saddled you with the task with Brenda. I should have known it wasn’t in your wheelhouse. But I want to make things right. For you and Bobby alike.”

Sam wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

“Therefore, I will be taking your place in the military. It’s the least I can do. I know Richie didn’t want this, but as long as he doesn’t leap back, he doesn’t have to deal with it. I’ll shoulder the burden.”

Sam cursed under his breath. What in the hell was Sam A thinking with this stunt? Neither of them had to go to Vietnam; neither had to die needlessly. He was making sure of that by avoiding Bobby’s duty. Leave it to his naive, idealist counterpart to ruin everything. And his chat with Al the previous night had given him perspective on one thing—Sam A wasn’t a fighter. He was going to get himself, and maybe other people, killed. And for what? This wasn’t some altruistic attempt to make amends with him. This was a selfish attempt to show he was still Mister Perfect!

“I apologise that by the time you read this, I will have left with Bobby’s car. I’m sure you’ll be able to find your way back to the commune. No hard feelings?
Peace and Love,
—Sam A”

Sam let out a frustrated groan. “You idiot!” he snapped at the letter, before screwing it up and throwing it into the trash can. He quickly gathered up his few personal effects, and left.

After checking out of the motel, he stepped up to the road and held out a thumb, hoping his dishevelled, sweaty state wouldn’t be too off-putting to drivers.

Chapter 34

Persuasion

In his quarters, through the haze of his siesta, Al became acutely aware of Ziggy’s voice calling his name. Groaning, he buried his head into his pillow as his body attempted to rebel against being awake.

“What is it, Ziggy?” he muttered, lifting his head momentarily to check his watch. “This better be good. I’ve only been here an hour.”

“Apologies for interrupting your human need for intermittent unconsciousness, Admiral,” Ziggy said in a mocking tone, “but I feel it my duty to relay to you that the Doctors Beckett are currently moving apart from one another at a speed of sixty-five miles per hour.”

Al raised an eyebrow in surprise. Had Sam B had a change of heart? Was he actually going to face up to his deployment?

“Well, that’s good news,” he said to the disembodied voice of the parallel hybrid computer. “Right? You didn’t need to wake me for that.” He rolled over, and closed his eyes again. “Good night, Zigs.”

“Admiral…” Ziggy persisted.

“What, dammit?”

“The Doctor Beckett you’ve designated the alphabetical character ‘A’ seems to be the one moving, and has just crossed the state line into California. I predict with an 82.6 percent probability that when Robert Deleon is deployed to Vietnam, it will actually be Richard Deleon in disguise.”

Al snapped fully awake at this. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Admiral Calavicci, I would never,” Ziggy asserted. “Whose brainwaves shall I notify Gooshie to initialise the Imaging Chamber to target?”

“Go with Sam A,” Al said as he jumped out of the bed, rubbing his eyes and hurrying for the door. “But keep it ready to switch at a moment’s notice, you got that?”

“As you wish, Admiral.”

As Al stumbled out of the elevator to the Control Room floor, he straightened his creased yellow suit jacket and grabbed his handlink from the console, as Donna and Gooshie watched on.

“I think Goody-Two-Shoes Sam is on his way to war,” he told them grimly. “And he doesn’t have the right parts of Sam to pull it off. I hope I’m not too late to talk him out of it.”

Donna gave him a doe-eyed look that told him this leap had really affected her.

“Make sure my husband stays alive,” she told him quietly. “Both of them.”

Al nodded firmly. “That’s my job, Donna.” He gave her shoulder a pat before hurrying to the Imaging Chamber.

As he stepped inside, he found himself rapidly moving along a desert road, keeping pace with the white Chevy. Using the handlink, he lowered himself to Sam’s eye level, and leaned in the passenger’s side window.

“Morning, Sam. So, uh… where are we goin’?” he said in a deceptively casual tone.

Sam A shot him a quick glance, before returning his gaze to the road ahead.

“San Diego,” he said cheerfully.

Al rolled a cigar between his fingers, trying to stay cool. “How come…?”

Sam’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “Saving Bobby’s reputation, helping out Sam B. Hopefully saving the marriage too.” His expression turned maudlin, and he added: “I just wish I had time to save the baby. That was my mistake—expecting Sam B to manage all of that. I should have known he’d mess up.” He sighed, blinking back tears. “So I’m doing what I can to make up for that grievous error.”

“You mean you’re gonna pretend to be Bobby and go to war in his place.”

“Bingo,” Sam A said, meeting Al’s eye. “You understand, right? I have to do this.”

Al’s face turned stony as he decided to drop the casual act. “Sam, listen to me. This is nutso. You can’t go to war!”

“Sure I can,” Sam countered. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t care how afraid you’re not!” Al cried. “You’re a damn pussycat! You couldn’t even take down a few hippies yesterday. What makes you think you can go up against seasoned soldiers, huh?”

A moment passed as Sam played with the radio, eventually landing on ‘He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother’. Al shivered at the choice. These kinds of songs brought him right back to his worst times.

“Okay. I admit I’m more of a diplomat than a soldier,” Sam finally said, “But I’ve made up my mind, Al. Bobby doesn’t deserve to have his life ruined just because of Sam Beckett’s anxiety personified. So let me go to Vietnam, and when that ambush comes, you just tell me how to get out of it alive, and then we’ll be square.” He smiled at Al. “Trust me. I know I made mistakes before, but as long as you’re by my side, I’ll be okay. I know it. You and me are unstoppable as a team.”

That statement stirred up guilt in Al, knowing if he’d just been around the commune more, he might have caught what was going on with Danny.

“Sam, what if getting out of the ambush requires hurting people? You think you can pull it off?”

Sam’s mouth drew into a straight line. “I’ve got no other choice.”

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” asked Al, rubbing his forehead.

Sam flashed him a grin. “Nope.”

Al nodded, defeated. “Gooshie, switch the feed to Sam B.”

He punched a button on the handlink, and vanished from the car. A second later, he found himself standing in a tepee. Sam B had already made it back to the commune?

And as he gained his bearings, he realised what was happening at his feet, among tie-dyed bedsheets.

“Holy mackerel…” Al said under his breath, looking down at Sam B making out with a woman—the one that was sweet on Richie—while the pigtailed Alicia appeared to be simultaneously giving him a hickey. “Sam?! Well jeez, guess you had the libido after all.”

Sam caught his friend’s eye, pulling himself away from the women. “Sorry ladies, the mothership calls,” he said, leaving them to kiss one another. Al couldn’t help but watch them go at it, even after Sam had left the tepee. A moment later, Sam peeked back past the flaps with a raised eyebrow, giving Al an expectant look.

“Oh, right…” Al said, shaking his head, and passing to the other side of the canvas wall.

“For what it’s worth, they came on to me,” Sam B said, wiping at his mouth.

“I don’t doubt it,” Al said. But his Calavicci leer faded as the reality of the situation once again impressed itself on him. “Anyway, you gotta go. Sam A’s gonna take Bobby’s place in the military—you have to stop him! I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s set on going. There’s no time to waste, Sam!”

Sam B shrugged. “Let him be an idiot that gets himself shot, I say. What’s it matter to me now? As you can see, I’m quite comfortable here, even though I’ve only been here twenty minutes.” He chuckled, gesturing towards the dome. “They love me here, Al. You know they already voted to expel Danny and his minions from the commune? Just because they all thought it was some kind of an extraterrestrial miracle that I showed up when I did.”

Al groaned. Now he had to try and convince Sam B?

He queried Ziggy through the handlink, trying to find an effective method of getting through to this Sam. It came back with a statistic that he thought might have been an effective motivator, and so he went for it.

“Sam, do you know what will happen to you if Sam A dies?”

Sam shook his head. “No… what?”

“Because you’re both the same person, Ziggy says there’s a ninety-eight percent chance you’ll die too!”

Sam B’s mouth fell open. “Really? Let me see that.” He moved to the other side of Al, peering down at the handlink, which showed exactly what he had said, except that it was 98.3% rather than an even 98.

“Ah, shit.”

Sam drew open the flaps of the tepee, revealing the girls running their hands over one another sensually, slowly pulling their clothes down. Al could have watched that all day, but sadly it was not to be.

“Ladies…” Sam said, “sorry to, um, break this up, but I need a car. Right now. I gotta go chase down—um—Al, back to San Diego.”

Alicia and the other girl looked at one another, then to Sam.

“Well, we don’t have our own cars,” Alicia said.

“But I do have a spare key for the bus,” added Richie’s girlfriend brightly.

“That’ll do.”

Al had never been so happy to see a three-way come to an unsatisfying conclusion.

Chapter 35

Pursuit

“I’m coming with you this time,” Marsha said as she opened up the bus doors. “I don’t know what’s going on exactly, but I care about both Richie and Al.”

Sam B frowned. “I’d really rather you didn’t tag along.”

“Well that’s just too bad,” she said, holding up the bus keys. “No me—no key.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Marsha.” Sam rolled his eyes. “If you must. Just keep out of my way when we get there and let me handle things. I don’t have time to waste.”

“I’m comin’ too, Sam,” announced Alicia, climbing on to the bus, a bag full of snacks slung over her shoulder.

Sam sighed. “Uh… yeah, sure,” he said flatly, shaking his head in exasperation. “Why not make a field trip out of it…”

The two women planted themselves in seats a few rows back as Sam wrestled with the controls at the driver’s seat.

With a sputter, the engine of the old school bus roared to life, and Sam B fumbled with the unwieldy gear shift and hula-hoop sized steering wheel, pulling away from the commune that he had managed to see so little of. Nursing a reluctant sense of preservation, he watched the glistening dome in the side mirror as it disappeared in the distance.

As he drove, Al popped into existence beside him.

“So, Sam…” he began, glancing down at the handlink momentarily before shoving it in his breast pocket, “You seem a little less angry today. Those hippie broads really loosened you up, huh?”

Sam shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I mean, yes, I did let them pull me in there and… well, you saw the rest. But it was something else.” He looked up at Al sincerely. “For the first time this leap, I had begun to relax, and it happened at the moment I accepted the other me was gone. I just… gave up, Al. And it was nothing but a great big relief.”

Al regarded him with a look of concern. “You were really just gonna let him go get himself killed?”

“He seemed pretty damn set on it—he left me a letter, Al. He’s a big boy.” Sam reasoned. “Besides, he was already gone when I woke up. For all I know, he’s already half way to ’Nam and I’m wasting my time.”

“Well, he’s not,” Al asserted. “He’s only half way to San Diego. Given Bobby doesn’t have to report in for four more hours, that gives us enough time to get there. Just step on it.”

“I’m going as fast as this damn tractor gets,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

Al frowned at this. “That’s rough. I go three times this speed in my convertible. Gets me out of nowheresville in no time.”

Sam shot him a look. “Thank you very much for that useful piece of information, Al. Really makes me feel better that I’m driving a gigantic hunk of scrap metal that may be older than me.”

“Hey, who are you talking to, Mister Al?” came a voice that definitely wasn’t Marsha or Brenda, or even Al. Sam B’s eyes widened as he spotted some kid emerging from under one of the seats. He flicked a bewildered look at Al.

“Uh, wh-what are you doing here?” Sam asked, assuming Sam A had probably met this boy before. He didn’t know how to broach the topic of not being ‘Al’ with some random kid, so he let it slide.

The boy bit his lip nervously. “Uh, well, I sometimes play on the bus. There’s a loose window and I climb in that way. I didn’t know someone was about to start drivin’ it.”

“Well, I think you’d better go sit with Marsha, kid. This is gonna be a long round trip.” He gave the boy a terse smile, and nodded back to Marsha and Alicia further back in the bus. “Oh, and uh—I was talking to my outer space friend.”

“What’s his name?”

As Sam squinted at the hologram, trying to figure out how to answer that, Al gave Sam an amused look. “Hey, don’t look at me. Al’s already taken.”

“His name is… Bingo,” Sam answered with a wink. “Like the dog. Now go on over to Marsha.” He took a hand off the steering wheel, and used it to gently push the kid down the aisle. “It’s too bumpy to be standing up, okay?”

As the kid—Mike?—stumbled away, Al put a hand on his hip. “Did you have to add the bit about the dog?”

“Well, you are my best friend, aren’t you?” Sam said with a smirk. “Though you don’t always come when I whistle.”

“Oh, ha ha, Sam.”

“Just be glad I didn’t call you The Great Gazoo.” Sam wasn’t quite sure why the invisible alien character from The Flintstones had just popped into his head, but it seemed fitting somehow.

This comment earned a funny look from Al, but he didn’t say anything.

Several silent minutes passed, as Sam settled into his drive. The loud engine and occasional backfire, combined with the constant bouncing in his seat filled up his senses as his anger at Sam A began to percolate again.

Sure, a few days ago he would have jumped at the chance to put Mister Perfect on that plane in his stead—but in leaving, he’d already solved the problem of Bobby’s death. And his new knowledge that Sam A wasn’t cut out for war sealed the deal on it being a terrible idea. And though his only motivation to stop him now was self-preservation, he almost felt as though maybe he was the better half. After all, when push had come to shove, it was he that was able to do what had to be done.

“Al…” Sam said finally, after thinking things through, “go and tell Sam A that I’m still at the commune and I give him my regards, okay? If he knows I’m coming, he might try to evade me.”

Al nodded. “Good idea, Sam. In the meantime, just keep that pedal to the metal.”

“Pedal, metal. Got it.”

Al called upward to Gooshie, before flickering out.

Sam checked the mirrors of the bus, seeing Marsha and Alicia talking to the kid. Alicia was passing him what looked like a Baby Ruth bar. Marsha caught Sam’s eye and stood, moving to his side.

“You finish your communion with the mothership?”

Sam snorted. She really did believe all the alien stuff, huh?

“For now,” he said.

Lurching to the left as the bus rocked, she delved into what had brought her up here. “So, why is Al going to San Diego, Sam?”

Sam drew a breath. How was he going to explain this without bulldozing through the elaborate lie that Sam A had let the hippies construct about him?

“Well…” he scratched his nose, “we aliens aren’t as perfect as we’re cracked up to be. And sometimes we do stupid things. For example, trying to take someone’s place in the war.”

Marsha looked at him, her eyes wide. “What…?!”

“Al thinks he can save Bobby’s life by swapping out with him. But he’s wrong. So I’m on my way to stop him.”

“I thought he was against the war…” Marsha said, covering her mouth.

“He is,” Sam B said plainly. “So much so, that his pacifism is going to put people in danger.”

“And what about Richie…?” Marsha said, voice shaking.

“Exactly,” Sam B said with a scowl. “‘What about Richie’ indeed. Al’s got the best of intentions—he just wants to save Bobby’s life, and his reputation—but he has no sense of judgement or perspective. Which is where I come in; I gotta bring him down to Earth. So to speak.”

“So you were sent here to be the yin to his yang?”

“Something like that.” Sam smiled privately, realising that hippies were pretty quick to accept far-out concepts. No wonder they’d accepted ‘Al’ so readily. And Marsha seemed to have really hit the nail on the head. “That is a pretty apt analogy, actually.”

It wasn’t that one Sam was ‘better’ or ‘worse.’ They were both needed as important parts of the whole. And in this case, Sam B was needed to knock some damn sense into Sam A. Which he would do with pleasure.

“Right on,” Marsha said, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. “If you need my help with anything, I’ll be here and ready.” Looking away, she added: “This may be the last time I can do something for Moonstone Ranch…”

Sam glanced up at her with curiosity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Danny’s father owns the land, Sam,” she explained grimly. “And we just kicked Danny out. How long are we gonna get to keep living there with him gone? We may have just signed the commune’s death warrant.”

“That’s too bad,” Sam said. But it wasn’t his responsibility. He had enough to deal with. He couldn’t fix everything, despite what Sam A believed.

He fixed his eyes on the road, away from the pleading eyes of Marsha.

Stop looking at me like that.

But even as she returned to her seat, he could still feel her unspoken question: ‘Can you save our home?’

Okay. He’d mention it to Al next time he showed up. Just in passing. But he wouldn’t get Marsha’s hopes up with any promises.

Chapter 36

Damage Control

It was another fine day in San Diego, California. The sun was shining, and Sam A was feeling upbeat. And it wasn’t the PCP any more.

Pulling into Bobby’s driveway, he checked his reflection in the rear view mirror of the car. He was looking a little unkempt and pale compared to Bobby’s usual look, which he chalked up to the previous night’s unfortunate events. He hadn’t used the shower in the motel, worried that he’d wake up Sam B before he had the chance to put some distance between them.

He was still wearing his hippie flares and loose vest, but he figured he could explain away his clothes, just as he would explain away everything else. It wasn’t the most ideal situation, but he’d talked his way through worse with Brenda by this point.

He opened the door of the car and stepped out onto the lawn, stretching. It had been a long drive, and he hadn’t exactly had a restful sleep the previous night. But it didn’t bother him much; at least the PCP had long since worn off, and that was the important thing.

Stepping up to the doorstep, he opened the front door of the house and peeked inside. It was all quiet. He checked the clock on the mantle: eight thirty or so. He had around an hour and forty-five minutes until he needed to report in for his deployment. Enough time to smooth things over with Brenda.

He strolled into the house, noting that it didn’t look like anybody had gotten up yet. In the kitchen, a plate of food sat untouched. Had Brenda made Bobby dinner, expecting him to return home? That was so sad. And on the kitchen counter…

Oh, Brenda. I’m so sorry.

The counter housed two empty wine bottles, one of which was on its side.

Sam headed into the hall, and opened the bedroom door a crack. Inside, Brenda was prone on the bed, sleeping in her clothes. A tipped-over wine glass lay on the floor by the bed, next to a third open wine bottle.

A worried Sam moved to her side, checking that she was still breathing, before moving her into the recovery position. As he did so, she stirred enough to let out a small moan. He leaned over, seeing that her eyes were half open.

“Morning,” he murmured into her ear. “You okay?”

She squinted, trying to focus on him. “Bobby? I… I thought you left me…” she slurred. It was clear she was far from sobering up.

“I didn’t leave you, Brenda,” Sam reassured her.

Sam B did, but I didn’t.

“Where were you, Bobby?” Brenda asked, her red eyes still struggling to focus on him. “I thought you left me,” she reiterated, possibly having forgotten she’d just said that.

“There was an emergency, and I had to go help Richie,” he said. It wasn’t completely a lie, but it was stretching the truth to breaking point. “I’m sorry, honey. I should have told you before I left, but there wasn’t time. But I’m here now, okay?”

He brushed a lock of hair away from her cheek, and she turned her head upwards toward him.

“Bobby, I’m drunk again,” she confessed, looking sheepish.

“I can see that,” Sam murmured, a sad smile tickling at his lips.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

Uneasily, she clawed at the bed until she was in a sitting position, her head heavily leaning on the wall as she frowned at him.

“No, you don’ understand,” she pressed, “I really tried to give up drinkin’. I did, I tried. But you didn’ come home lass night, Bobby. I thought you left me.”

Sam climbed onto the bed and sat beside her against the wall, clasping his hand in hers.

“I didn’t leave you,” he reassured her softly, “and even when I’m in Vietnam, you’ll still be… Robert Deleon’s wife, okay? Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Yeh, I know Bobby. I’m sorry—God, I’m sorry, but… but I don’t think I can stop drinkin’ without you here…”

Sam nodded sadly. “I understand, Brenda. I wish there was more I could do about that, but I’m shipping out today. Remember?”

“Oh yeah…” she murmured, her words becoming more vague and slurred. “I packed your things. They’re in the closet, okay…? I love you, Bob…” She trailed off as her eyes fluttered closed and her lolling head found its way onto Sam’s shoulder. She snuggled into him with a soft moan before going still. The two of them sat there for a while, until he began to hear her snoring. He gently lowered her back down to the bed, kissing her on the forehead.

“I’ll wake you before I leave,” he promised as he looked in the closet to find Bobby’s suitcase buckled up and ready, and his neatly pressed Navy uniform hanging above it.

Navy again? Well then, Al should be doubly useful.

He retrieved both case and uniform, and headed out of the room. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and his stomach was doing back-flips from hunger, so he figured the kitchen might be his first port of call.

After a generous breakfast, he stepped into the bathroom, and Richie’s pallid face looked back at him with a hint of disapproval in his blue eyes.

Well, Sam thought, that was probably his imagination.

Methodically, he readied himself for his departure with a hot shower, a shave, and thorough brushing of his teeth to cleanse away the shame of his failures the day prior. It was nice to have the creature comforts, and a mirror with which to assess his grooming process. He hadn’t realised just how much he missed having a mirror, even if it was never a familiar face that peered back from the glass.

He donned his uniform, and gave himself a final assessment. Well, Richie didn’t have quite the muscle tone of his brother, but it was only obvious when he flexed his arms. Other than that, he looked the part to a tee. He’d have to get used to being called Robert and Bobby, but that was nothing new for him.

Satisfied at the completion of his preparations, he returned to the bedroom to check on Brenda.

She was still fast asleep.

He placed a hand on her arm and shook it slightly.

“Brenda. Brenda, I have to leave now.”

Brenda stirred, her still-red eyes peering up at him. “Where are you going?” she asked, still in a haze.

“Vietnam. I’m reporting for duty, Brenda.”

Sam didn’t think she actually registered what he had said, because she closed her eyes again and rolled over. “Goodnight,” she mumbled, before promptly falling asleep again.

Sam let out a breath, turning away. He’d leave her a note. Something she could read when she had a bit more sense in her.

Wistfully, he wrote out a few lines of heartfelt goodbyes, alongside some lines of love poetry he could vaguely recall from somewhere or other, and left the paper on the coffee table with a glass of water and aspirin, before heading for the door.

“Bye, Brenda,” he said softly to the empty room, before opening the front door—only to receive a great big shove in the other direction. He dropped his suitcase as he stumbled backwards, and the identity of his assailant became clear.

Damn. Why did I take the time to write that poem?

“Hey there, brother,” Sam B said flatly. “Would you mind kindly explaining what the hell your problem is?”

At the same time, Al popped into the room, hand running through his hair.

Sam A frowned at him. “You lied to me, Al. You said he was staying at the commune.”

“Okay, listen…” Al said, biting his lip.

“He just did what I asked him,” Sam B cut in. “Because he—like me—knows you’re being a great big idiot. I can’t let you go.”

“Look, you two,” Al tried, “the two of you need to sit down with me and we’ll work it all out, awright? Man to man. To man.”

“I think this is between us, Al,” Sam A supplied, eyes still fixed upon his double as they stared one another down.

“I concur,” Sam B said, closing the distance between the Sams. “Just you and me.”

For a moment, Sam A thought he was about to throw a punch, but instead he placed both of his hands on Sam A’s shoulders.

“I’ve been thinking of you as Mister Perfect,” he said with a smirk. “But look at what you’re doing. You have no common sense. Don’t you see how doing this is going to get you killed?!”

Sam A didn’t falter. “That’s leaping for you. It’s dangerous. But if I die, at least I’ll die knowing I did all that I could to help. Can you say the same?” He gestured to the hall. “Brenda’s in bed plastered, because of what you did.”

He pressed a finger into Sam B’s chest, causing him to push it away in disgust.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a few more challenges to face than you,” Sam B retorted, “but at least I’m self-aware of them. Look at you. Your—quite frankly—staggering shortsightedness caused you to almost die, and you’re still doing completely foolish things against everyone’s advice. Get a damn grip on yourself!”

For the first time this leap, Sam A was feeling a dormant anger igniting in his belly.

“Your advice?!” he spat. “Like you’ve done anything except beat up a few guys and complain a lot!” he gestured behind him with his thumb. “I’d be better off taking advice from Brenda in there, if I can wake her up to give it.”

“Well, look at that,” Sam B mused. “Sunshine Bear’s got a temper all of a sudden. Here I was thinking I had it all.”

“Well, I was perfectly even-tempered until I had to deal with you. All of what you represent—the parts of me that I wish I could just throw away—and here you are, in the flesh.”

“Hey, now, this isn’t—” Al started, only to be cut off by both Sams speaking in perfect unison.

“Stay out of this, Al.”

“I don’t know where you get off calling me trash.” Sam B thrust a palm into Sam A’s shoulder. “I saved your hippy-dippy ass yesterday, okay? You need me. Yin and goddamn yang. No way you’re gonna handle Vietnam when you can’t even throw a punch!”

Sam A narrowed his eyes. “Watch me.”

With that, he landed a right hook into Sam B’s cheek, sending him stumbling backwards into the door frame.

He rubbed at his face, shocked. “You… hit me.”

Sam A looked, eyes wide, down at his fist, then back up at Sam B. Frankly, he was stunned too. He wouldn’t have dreamed of doing that to anybody else.

Only himself.

He opened his mouth to reply, but was preempted by Sam B returning the blow, and he reeled from the hit, hand at his jaw.

I think it’s time I wrestled with my demons, he thought as he lunged for his double, and the pair of them tumbled out the front door onto the manicured lawn.

“Oh boy,” Al said as he watched on in horror.

Chapter 37

Self Harm

Of all the crazy, unbelievable things happening this leap, this one really took the cake.

Al’s hand raked through his hair as he watched his best friend and his best friend rolling on the grass, each attempting to land a fist on the other, and equally defending themselves.

On the side of the road, the rainbow bus stood as a gaudy landmark against the plain suburban backdrop, and in its window, three faces watched on with open mouths.

As if thinking as one, the Sams each rolled away from one another and scrambled to their feet. They held up their fists and began circling one another with a wide stance.

“Stop it already!” Al cried. “Come on, let’s just talk it out like adults! Please!”

The Sams didn’t seem to acknowledge his pleas as they began shooting remarks at each other.

“Would you just let me help you?” Sam A snarled. “All you have to do is stand down and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Can’t do that,” Sam B said, shaking his head. “If you get yourself killed, Ziggy says I die too. It’d be like signing my own death warrant.”

Sam A licked his lips, not taking his eyes off Sam B. “That true, Al?”

“That’s what Ziggy told me.”

Al didn’t mention that Ziggy didn’t actually have a figure for that at all—such an unknown was beyond her ability to formulate odds. The handlink had merely shown what Ziggy thought would motivate Sam B. But Al sure wasn’t about to admit that.

“Well, that’s okay,” Sam A said quietly, and moved in, attempting to give Sam B the Beckett Flying Noodle Kick—only to be blocked. The two of them, having the same martial arts skill set, were remarkably evenly matched. Al hoped that would mean they’d tire themselves out before they beat one another to a bloody pulp.

“Uh—excuse me?!” Sam B snapped, incredulous. “You think it’s all copacetic if I die? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He moved in with a backhand, but Sam A dodged and caught him on his midsection with an elbow. Sam B withdrew as he recovered from the blow.

“You may not have noticed,” Sam A said, “but you’re me. And I’m you. We’re one person.”

“And your point?”

“We leap to help other people. What happens to us—it just doesn’t matter.”

Al’s mouth dropped open. So that was the problem with ‘Mister Perfect.’ No sense of self-preservation.

Sam A came in low with a leg sweep. Sam B managed to avoid it with one leg, but the other was knocked off balance, and Sam lunged forward, grabbing his double and bringing them both down to the grass once again, where Sam B managed to pin him.

“God, I thought I was full of self-loathing,” he said as he jabbed a knee into Sam A’s stomach, winding him. “But at least I’ll fight for our damn lives. You don’t even care!”

“I care…” Sam A said, breathless. “I care too much…”

He thrust upward with his legs, throwing Sam B off him, and he rolled away, getting back on his feet smoothly as Sam B did the same.

“Just not about us!”

“Not while you’re around,” Sam A muttered.

Al stood, watching with wide eyes, as understanding began to dawn on him. And that’s why you beat yourself up, isn’t it, Sam? This fight has been going on since long before the two of you split up.

It was the inner conflict: Sam’s innate drive to save everyone, always at odds with his desire to make it home and live his own life. Al had seen both extremes over Sam’s time leaping, and now all of a sudden, this fight seemed all too familiar.

He couldn’t let it go on, not like this.

Al moved between the newly separated brawlers, holding out his arms. “That’s enough!”

But his attempt was futile, as Sam B lunged straight through his hologram to Sam A, pushing him against the wall of Bobby’s house with a thud. He’d used Al for cover.

Damn, that hurts.

“You keep us wanting this, don’t you? To keep leaping? You want us to keep going until we’ve lost everything.” Sam B, now with the upper hand, began raining blows on Sam A’s face, a word matching each strike. “Quit… being… such… a martyr!” He gave one final punch to his gut, as he shouted: “I don’t want to help people! I want to go home!”

“Sam, stop it!” Al barked. “You’re gonna kill him!”

Sam B chuckled. “That’s what he wants, isn’t it? To sacrifice himself?”

Sam A’s face was red with the flurry of hits, and he appeared dazed. But when Sam B looked towards Al, he used his final ounce of strength to kick him away hard, in the direction of the stairs leading up to the house entrance.

Sam B fell on the stairs, and a loud crunch rang out, followed by him swearing like a sailor.

“Agh! Dammit, goddammit!” he moaned, rolling over and clutching his wrist.

It didn’t take a doctor to see it was broken.

“Oh, jeez…” Al said, rubbing at his forehead. “That looks bad, Sam.”

As if coming out of a trance, Sam A seemed to realise just what he’d done, and rushed over to his counterpart in shock.

“I… I’m sorry,” he croaked, looking down at the skin-crawling angle Sam B’s wrist now displayed. “I’ll… call an ambulance.”

Sam B scowled up at him. “You do that.”

As the more beaten, but less pained Sam rushed into the house,  Sam B turned his gaze to Al.

“Can you believe that jerk?” he asked, his face contorted with the pain his wrist was giving him.

Al was about to answer when the handlink gave a sharp jingle. He looked down at it, and his mouth drifted open as he read Ziggy’s updated data.

“Oh, Sam. You’re not gonna believe this.”

“What?” Sam B said through clenched teeth as he continued to gingerly nurse his broken bone.

“Well, you’ve got a broken arm, right?”

“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”

“Sam, you can’t go on active duty with a broken arm.”

Sam B’s eyes widened as he processed the information. “What are you saying, Al?”

“Bobby Deleon’s deployment now gets postponed three months because of that little injury.” Al looked up from the handlink, grinning. “You did it. In the most painful way possible, sure. But you prevented Bobby’s death.”

“You’re kidding.”

“But, here’s the tricky part, Sam,” Al added. “Ziggy says you need to say Richie started the fight and you were defending yourself. And Richie has to make a statement to that effect. Otherwise you’ll have suspicion cast on you that you just happened to break a bone the day you were supposed to go to Vietnam, and there’s a whole process. You don’t want that kind of trouble, believe me.”

“If Sam A makes that statement, they’ll arrest him for draft dodging, Al.”

“He was going to end up in jail for that anyway, you know.”

Sam looked down at his mangled wrist. “Yeah, but…”

“Can you talk to Richie in the Waiting Room?” Sam A chimed in, coming out of the door with a neutral expression on his face. “I called an ambulance, they’ll be here soon.”

“How much of that did you hear?” Al asked him, an eyebrow raised.

“Only the last part, but…” he eyed his double. “I think I understand.”

With a deep breath, he sat on the step beside Sam B. “Go and ask Richie if he’s willing to do it, Al. Don’t worry… we’re done with the fight.” He put a hand on Sam B’s back. “Though something tells me we haven’t put the issue to bed just yet.”

Chapter 38

Understanding

Al left the Imaging Chamber drenched in flop sweat. Catching sight of Verbena talking to Tina in the Control Room, he caught her eye and beckoned her to him.

“Beeks, front and centre.”

“What is it?” she asked as she approached.

Al pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began dabbing at his forehead.

“Well, I think you’re gonna be needed for the next little while,” he said grimly. “Our uh, id and superego had it out.” At Verbena’s look of horror, he added: “Don’t worry, they seem to be done now. They beat each other up pretty good, though. Sam B’s broken his wrist and Sam A’s whole face is gonna be black and blue. He’s probably swelling up like a balloon as we speak.”

“My God,” Verbena breathed.

“They gave each other as good as they got,” Al said, shaking his head. “They’re cooperating for now, but I’m gonna need your help to stop this from happening again. Would you come with me into the Imaging Chamber next time and you can take notes?”

Verbena nodded. “Sure, I can do that. Will I be able to talk to him this time?”

“Maybe.” Al winced. “For brief periods. You know the power usage. I mainly need you to come up with ways of reconciling them that I can put into practice.” He leaned in to her. “Their main conflict, I think, is that half of Sam wants to go home and live his own life, and the other half wants to keep on helping folks.”

Verbena mulled this over for a moment.

“That makes sense,” she mused, “knowing the behaviours you’ve described right from the beginning of this leap.” She gave a resolute nod. “Alright then, let’s go see him.”

Al held up a hand. “Not so fast.” He nodded in the direction of the Waiting Room. “I gotta talk to the Bobbsey Twins in there first.”

*        *        *

Bobby and Richie stretched their shared arms as they paced the  very boring blue room. Just how much longer would they be stuck here, anyway? Wherever ‘here’ was. They had been thinking it might be some kind of military base, given the presence of the Admiral and his Naval officers posted outside the door that they’d managed to spot the last time the doctor had left them, but the whole vibe seemed awfully Star Trek for that.

Richie had contributed the idea of it being the inside of a flying saucer or something, but Bobby wasn’t prepared to accept that possibility. What kind of alien ship had Navy people on it, anyway? Then again, with all the weird stuff happening, finding out they were presently flying through space wouldn’t have been the surprise it might once have been.

Their dual ruminations were interrupted as the door once again slid open with a mechanical swoosh. This time, it was the doctor and the Admiral together.

With Bobby’s insistence, the twins saluted him once again.

“You don’t have to do that, sailor,” the Admiral said, though he returned the formality seemingly out of habit. “Not while you’re here, anyway.”

“Yes sir,” Bobby said, lowering his hand. “Sorry, sir.”

Doctor Beeks smiled warmly at them. “You seem well. Though I apologise if you’ve been a little bored. I can get you some entertainment, perhaps. Deck of cards, chess board…”

“That would be swell,” Bobby said.

“Have you got a TV? I kinda miss TV,” Richie added.

The doctor chuckled. “I’m afraid we can’t offer you that right now,” she said, “but I can get you some books.”

“Good enough,” Richie said with a sigh. “So what’s the Navy guy with the weird shaped tie here for this time?” He gestured to the Admiral, giving him much less deference than Bobby. “I don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at me.”

The Admiral smirked back. “I like you, Richie. Uh, assuming it was you who… said that.” He scratched his head. “You got good instincts.”

Richie frowned. That didn’t sound good. “Okay, out with it.”

Richie, a little respect!

He’s your superior officer, not mine.

“Look, kid, I think it’s about time we explained a thing or two about this place,” the Admiral said, taking the twins by the shoulders. “You’re part of a government experiment, and—”

Richie’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t sign up for no experiments…”

“I know, and I’m sorry. Unfortunately we don’t have control over who is brought here. But the point is, the pair of you switched places with a friend of mine, and it’s his job to live your lives while you’re here.”

The twins cocked their head. “What does that mean? Live our lives?”

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a hand mirror. “Take a look in there and you’ll see him.”

The twins took the mirror, and dropped it in surprise when they saw the foreign face looking back at them. The Admiral anticipated the reaction, and caught the mirror, returning its surface to the twins’ eye line.

“Man, be honest,” Richie said, looking into the hazel eyes of the middle-aged man in the mirror, “am I still tripping? I know it’s felt like I’ve been here days, but… this is too wild.”

“I’m afraid you’re both stone cold sober,” the Admiral said. “But the point is that this man is—well—currently seeing your face in the mirror. And that’s what other people see when they look at him.”

Ten minutes of further mind-blowing explanation of… whatever in God’s name was happening—something about the guy in the mirror getting split in half, and being both twins at once, and then getting in a fist fight?—and the Admiral finally reached the point of his little visit.

“Bobby, with a suspicious broken bone on the very morning you were meant to ship out, it’s fifty-fifty that you could be court-martialed for intentional self-injury.”

“What?!” Bobby snapped. “But I didn’t even break my wrist!”

“No, but chances are when you go home, your wrist will be broken,” the Admiral explained to the baffled twins. “But even if it’s not, it’ll be in a cast.”

“So your friend’s got me in hot water?!”

“I first want to make it clear that by breaking your arm, he saved your life, okay?”

Bobby frowned. “Yeah, right. And what’s my punishment for this thing I had no control over?”

“Up to ten years confinement,” the Admiral said, cringing. “But Richie can stop that. Only, it’ll mean some sacrifice on his part.”

Richie narrowed his eyes. “Oh?”

“If Richie makes a statement that he started the fight, and is responsible for the injury, then Bobby will be safe.”

Realising the implications of making such a statement, Richie stumbled back in alarm.

“You want me to… turn myself in?” Richie sat on the bed, heat rising in his cheeks. “To help Bobby?”

“I want you to consult with your brother, and figure it out for yourselves. It’s your lives, so it’s up to you.” The Admiral looked down at his strange contraption with the blinking lights. “But you should know that as a draft dodger, you’ll be out of prison within four years, and pardoned by ’77.”

“Um…” Richie looked down at his hands. “Okay. We’re gonna need some time to talk it over.”

“What you’ve told us is a little hard to grasp,” Bobby added, “but thank you for finally explaining what we’re doing here, sir.”

“Normally it’s our policy to say as little as possible,” the Admiral explained, “but this isn’t exactly a normal situation.” He headed for the door. “It’s been a pleasure speaking with the pair of you. Give us your answer as soon as you can, okay?”

“Okay, Admiral.”

“Call me Al.”

Al grabbed Doctor Beeks’s hand and led her out of the room, with the door sliding shut after them.

“So, what do you think?” Bobby asked his brother.

“Just… give me time to think it over.”

“Don’t worry about me, Richie. I don’t want you going to prison.”

“I don’t want you getting locked up for something you didn’t do, though… maybe even longer than me.”

“It was only fifty-fifty odds.”

“That’s too high, Bobby. You didn’t dodge the draft—but I did. Knowing the consequences full well. It’s something I’ve always known might come back to bite me.”

“Are you saying you want to take the fall?”

Richie pursed his lips, rubbing his hands together. “I’d be going to jail for my principles. So… I’ll do it. I told you—I’m not a coward, Bobby. I just don’t believe in this war, nor the draft, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is on that.” He swallowed. “Even if it means prison time. I’ll be in good company.”

Bobby felt his eyes welling up. He hid his face with his hand in embarrassment, even though there was nobody around to see him cry.

“I’m sorry I was such a jerk to you, Richie. You’re the best brother a guy could ask for.”

Richie smiled softly. “You just make the most of the gift I’m giving you, alright?”

The twins peered upward to the ceiling, clearing their throat. “Excuse me, Miss Stardust? Ziggy? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” came the strange lady’s voice. “How may I help you?”

“Can you tell the Ad—I mean, Al—that Richie wants to make the statement? Thanks.”

“Your request has been logged. Thank you.”

Satisfied, the twins reclined on the bed, letting themselves drift off as they hugged themself.

Chapter 39

Doctors and Nurses

As Sam B was whisked away by an ambulance, the uninsured ‘Richie’ hung back at the house, washing the blood off his face and changing back into his hippie clothes.

The swelling had kicked in now, and Sam A’s face both looked and felt like it was about to pop. His vision was low through his swollen eyes, with the burgeoning bruises beginning to become apparent among a few cuts and abrasions. Other parts of his body were in pain too, but he and Sam B had inspected one another, and found nothing serious. Well, other than the broken bone.

He sat gingerly on Bobby’s couch feeling very sorry for himself.

“I found an ice pack,” Marsha announced as she emerged from the kitchen. She tossed the pack to Sam, who gratefully placed it against his face.

Alicia and Mike were next to make themselves known, carrying a med kit from the bus.

“We’ll get you fixed up right as rain, Al,” Alicia said as she began pulling out alcohol swabs, Steri-Strips, bandages, and other first aid supplies.

As he was showered with care, and Mike watched on with interest, Sam A found himself, once again, feeling lucky to have these people who cared about him so much, and he wished that his counterpart could feel just a bit of that.

Finally, as he was patched up—remarkably well for two non-medically trained people, though he verbally assisted them at times—Marsha took a seat beside him and looked at him expectantly.

He smiled at her sheepishly. “What?”

Marsha exchanged a look with Alicia, then returned her gaze to Sam.

“Sam told us what you were doing,” she said, her voice failing to betray an emotion. “Why would you try to take Richie to the war like that?”

Heh, he gets to use our real name, Sam thought with slight resentment, but shook off the feeling. He met Marsha’s eye as best he could through the swollen tissue of his face.

“At the time, it seemed like the best option,” he said, unsure of how much Sam B had told her about the situation. “If Bobby went to Vietnam today, he would have died.”

“So you took it upon yourself to take his place, and put Richie in danger… and you didn’t even tell us?” Sam could see Marsha was trying not to get angry with her star child saviour, but the mask was beginning to slip now.

Sam sighed. “Okay, it was a hasty decision,” he admitted, “but sometimes it’s hard to know the right way forward. It looked like… Sam… was about to get Bobby in trouble he never wanted. At the time, it seemed like the option that would cause the least harm and do the most good for everybody. That is, until he broke his wrist.”

“Sam didn’t seem to think it was the best option,” Marsha chided.

“Well, Sam was going to let Bobby go to jail, while his wife drank herself to death,” Sam A snapped. He took a moment to compose himself, breathing deeply.

“His wife?” Alicia piped up. “Is she here?”

“Yeah, Brenda’s here,” Sam said, nodding. “In the bedroom, sleeping off two and a half bottles of wine. She’s gonna have a bad day today.” He sighed, realising the convoluted mess that would have to be explained to her when she came to.

Alicia looked towards the hall, chuckling. “Oh, I know what that’s like.” She headed for the kitchen. “Looks like we got two patients to care for, then.”

As Sam turned to watch her go, he caught sight of Al standing in the corner, hand in hand with…

Verbena? His jaw dropped. He hadn’t seen her since… when? He couldn’t recall.

How long had they been standing there, watching this exchange? He gave them a puzzled look, though he figured with all the swelling, the expression might not have been understood.

As Al realised Sam had spotted them, he waved. “Hi, Sam. Sorry to lurk in the corner like this,” he said sheepishly. “You remember Doctor Beeks?”

Sam glanced at Marsha. “Uh, I gotta—”

“—Mothership time?” Marsha intuited. “I understand. Go commune with your people.”

Marsha, you are really something. With a grin, he stood and moved to the corner, where he leaned against the wall, still holding the ice pack against his cheek.

“Verbena, it’s good to see you,” he said quietly as he squinted at her slightly blurred form. “Well, as best I can, anyway… under the circumstances. What’s going on?”

Verbena and Al exchanged a look.

“She’s observing you in a professional context,” Al explained.

“Professional—? Ohh,” Sam snorted. “I get it. You want me and Mister Angry to make up, right?”

Verbena chuckled, though Sam didn’t hear her voice.

“Sorry Sam,” said Al, “I can only enable her audio if she’s got something mega important to say. Too much power.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “It’s alright.” He looked into her eyes and smiled warmly. “I don’t know if it’s possible, Verbena. We have a fundamental disagreement. But I appreciate the effort.”

Verbena returned his smile, and nodded. She said something to Al.

“She says she’ll do her best, and she hopes that swelling goes down soon,” he relayed. “Listen Sam, we’re gonna go check on your counterpart.”

“Okay, Al,” Sam said, and looked back at Verbena. “Thank you, Doctor Beeks. And I, uh, hope Sam B doesn’t bite your head off.” He tried to wink, but at Verbena’s reaction, it might have looked more like a pained wince.

As Al was entering the sequence to transport himself to Sam B, a hoot from the device gave him pause.

“Oh! Good timing. Sam, Richie’s agreed to turn himself in.”

“I understand,” Sam said. “When do you want me to do that?”

“Not just yet, Ziggy still thinks there might be things to do before you go getting locked up.”

Sam moved the ice pack to the other side of his face. “Alright, I’ll await the signal. I’ll see you later, Al. And you, Verbena. Thank you guys for being here for me. I mean it. For that matter, send Gooshie and Tina my thanks, too. You’ve all been working so hard on this one.”

He caught a flicker of sadness pass over Verbena’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came on.

“We will, Sam,” Al said. “You just hang in there and keep that ice up.”

And with that, they were gone.

*        *        *

Sam B felt kind of good. Of course, that was only because of the strong painkillers in his system filing down the hard edges of his normally prickly mood. He was in a hospital room, letting himself drift on the dreamy morphine haze. Probably a lot nicer than whatever Sam A had gone through, at any rate.

The hospital was some military place; he hadn’t been paying enough attention to see what it was called. They all seemed pretty busy, which he assumed was why he was alone now as staff rushed back and forth past the window in the door.

“Hey, how’s it going, Sam?” came Al’s voice. Sam turned his head to see both him and Verbena standing beside him.

He lifted his arm to give a thumbs up, but a surge of pain cutting through the drugs made him realise he was lifting the broken arm. The bone hadn’t yet been set—he was still waiting for someone to come in and do that job. They said they’d be a minute. For all Sam knew it could have been less than a minute so far, but it felt like longer. Well, as long as the morphine kept him from being in excruciating pain, he was alright.

“Hey buddy,” he said with a grin and a loose tip of his head. “Hi Verbena.” He blinked. “Wait a sec… Verbena? How come you’re here?”

For a second, he thought he might have leaped home, and his heart fluttered, until he saw the tight grip on Verbena’s hand Al had. No such luck; she was a hologram.

Al’s face screwed up. “Oh, great. I’ve had about enough of seeing you all drugged up,” he grumbled.

“I dunno what you expected,” Sam said, chuckling. “I’m in a lotta pain ya know. I mean, I was anyway.” He turned his head back to the ceiling, closing his eyes, already forgetting that Verbena was present. “So what’s the news?”

“Uh, well, Richie agreed to make the statement… so Bobby’s gonna be just fine. Richie’s gonna end up doing some time, though.”

“That’s a shame,” Sam mumbled.

“Anyway, we came here so Verbena could take a look at you, but I don’t think that’s gonna be much help when you’re like this…”

“Like what?”

“All hopped up on morphine.”

Sam shrugged. “What’s she need?”

“She just wants to understand you better. And the uh, nature of your conflict with Sam A.”

Sam burst into laughter at this, and found it difficult to calm himself enough to respond.

“Well, he did break my arm,” he said between giggles. “And he said he didn’t care if either of us lives or dies. He’s a real jerk, you know?”

The interaction was interrupted when the door opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform came into the room.

“Morning, Mister Deleon,” she said brightly. “I’m Nurse Simon, and I’m here to set your bone, okay?”

“That was more than a minute,” Sam muttered. “They told me they’d be a minute.”

The nurse, a brunette who looked strangely familiar to Sam, moved to his side and began her work.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said as she prepared the plaster. “We’re a bit short staffed today. I’m normally not even in this wing of the hospital, and it’s technically my break.” She chuckled, gesturing to his arm. “I guess you’re the only one who gets a break around here, and you didn’t even want it, huh?”

As Sam snorted at the joke, it struck him that Al had not made a lewd remark about this beautiful nurse, and he looked over to the hologram, only to find his eyes wide and mouth open as he stared at her. And was that a trace of tears glistening in his eyes?

Even through the morphine, Sam realised that such a reaction was unusual, and as the nurse set his bone into place and began wrapping the plaster strips around it, he looked down at her ID badge.

“…Beth…”

Beth Simon? That didn’t sound right.

“That’s my name,” she confirmed. “Well, it’s good to see that black eye didn’t damage your vision. You get in a fight there, Mister Deleon?”

He definitely knew this woman. And so did Al.

“Yeah, I got in a fight,” Sam said. “But you should see the other guy.” He grinned up at her.

Beth met his eyes and blinked a couple of times.

“Have we met?” she asked, furrowing her brow as she searched his glazed eyes.

“No, Sam!” Al cried out. “You haven’t, okay?”

“Uh… no,” Sam said, trusting his friend.

“Huh,” Beth said, shaking her head. “I don’t know why, you just remind me of someone. Never mind.”

“Uh, well, I have an identical twin. Maybe you’ve met him.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“He, uh… he was the other guy,” Sam whispered, cupping his hand to her ear.

Beth raised an eyebrow. “Your twin brother broke your arm?”

Sam hitched a shoulder. “Well yeah, but before that, I was winning.” He winked at her, before leaning back and closing his eyes.

It wasn’t until Nurse Beth Simon was finishing up that he started to realise where he knew her from. It was a leap, a while back.

“Beth Cala…” he mumbled, as it finally came to him that this woman tending to his broken arm was, in fact, Al’s first wife. “…vicci…”

The details from the leap where he’d met her slowly ebbed into his mind. It was here in San Diego. Al had begged him to stop her from marrying some other guy while he was a POW. But he’d realised, almost too late, that it wasn’t what he’d been there to do.

And now, here she was, with a new surname. It had been—what, a year, maybe? She looked almost the same. Longer hair, but the face was unmistakable now that he recalled it.

Beth froze, looking him in the eye. “What did you just say…?”

“Sam, shut up!” Al said urgently. Sam flicked his gaze to the Observer, and realised he looked positively devastated to be here in her presence.

“Uh, look,” Sam said quickly. “I’m just babbling. You know, with the morphine. Don’t worry about anything that comes outta this mouth.” He finished with a crooked smile, playing up the drug high.

Beth, still looking a little disturbed, nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Anyway… I’m all done here, so you just rest up and someone will be in later to check up on you.”

She hurried out of the room, giving him a curious look before she closed the door behind her.

It might have been the morphine, but Sam found tears rolling down his cheeks as he thought about Beth and her new husband.

“I could have done it,” he murmured. “I was there. I could have done something.” Through the blur of tears, he looked back to Al. “Sorry, Al.”

“Don’t worry about that, Sam,” he said. But Verbena leaned in to Al and said something inaudible to him. He looked at her, bewildered, before turning back to Sam. “There’ll be other chances to make a difference, Sam. If you keep on going.”

Keep on going?

“You’re the only guy who can, you know,” Al added, before tapping something on the handlink.

Verbena stepped towards Sam, smiling. “You’ve helped a hundred Als in your leaps, Sam. And maybe, some day, you’ll have another chance with Beth.”

Sam brushed away a tear. “Y-yeah. Maybe.”

He realised, with great surprise, that if anything could convince him to choose leaping over going home, that the promise of helping his best friend might be it.

“That feeling you have now,” Verbena continued, “the feeling of wanting to help Al. That’s where you and Sam A intersect. That’s where you can find common ground with him.”

Sam directed his gaze to Al, who looked a wreck.

Yeah. Maybe if he had to leap, if he could make things better for the people he loved, he could at least make it worthwhile that way. Even if he was still stuck in time.

“Thanks Verbena,” he said softly. As he laid back, falling into a renewed haze, he heard Verbena whisper something to Al, before they both left the Imaging Chamber.

Chapter 40

Husbands and Wives

The smell of toast and coffee greeted Brenda as she roused, her head pounding and stomach roiling.

Had Bobby made her breakfast? Wait, wasn’t today his deployment? Had he come home, or had that been a dream? By the smell of things, he must have, surely.

She rubbed her eyes, and looked up into an unfamiliar face. Startled, she drew back, gasping. That was definitely not Bobby.

“Who are you?” she asked the small auburn-haired woman with stars painted on her face. “What are you doing in my house?”

The woman held up a tray of breakfast. “Good morning!” she chirped. “I’m here to care for you while you recover from your hangover! My name’s Alicia.”

Bewildered at the intrusion, Brenda sat up, trying to ignore the sensation of spinning. “Who let you in here?”

Alicia placed the tray—which was laid out with a tall cup of coffee, a glass of water, buttered toast, and aspirin—on the nightstand, and gave a flourish with her hands. “Bon appetit!” She smiled down at Brenda with a cheerful posture. “I’m helping you as a favour to—um, Bobby.”

With a realisation, Brenda shot a hand to her mouth. “Bobby’s gone, isn’t he? Oh god, I can’t believe I didn’t say goodbye…”

“Uh, well, he’s not here, but he ain’t gone either,” Alicia said sheepishly. “See, he kinda broke his wrist. So now he can’t ship out for a while. He’s at the hospital now getting patched up.”

Through the fog of her hangover, it took Brenda a moment for this information to process.

“Are you pulling my leg?”

“No, hon,” Alicia insisted. “Honest to God. You can call the hospital if you want. Balboa Naval, I think it was.”

Brenda felt her eyes welling up with tears of sheer relief. Bobby would be with her a little longer. She wouldn’t have to be alone.

“I still don’t know who you are,” she said through her choked throat.

“I’m Richie’s friend,” she said. “Oh, I should probably tell you that he’s in the living room, along with a couple more of us.”

Brenda blinked, vaguely recalling that Bobby had told her he’d had to deal with some kind of emergency with his brother. He hadn’t told her that he’d come back with him. But then again, she didn’t remember much since some time last night when she was well into her second bottle of wine and weeping on the floor of the living room.

She really had to stop this. God, she was a mess.

I should have listened to Bobby the first time he brought it up. I’ve been such a disgusting drunk… She shuddered as the shame swelled in her chest.

She alternated between sobbing and drinking from the glass of water thirstily as Alicia climbed onto the bed beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey,” she said softly, “if you need to talk it out, I’m all ears, man. I used to be an alcoholic, ya know. It’s tough to get clean.” With a smirk, she added: “Especially if you don’t replace it with weed.”

Brenda didn’t know this Alicia from Adam, but the way this strange little woman was comforting her made her feel a bit better, so she allowed her to continue without protest.

She took up a slice of toast and nibbled, only to find that her stomach wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment.

The room began to spin more violently as she got up, clutching her stomach and mouth. Alicia helped her to the bathroom to throw up in the toilet, holding back her hair and comforting her in the same way Bobby had done a couple of nights prior.

Really, she hadn’t had anyone other than Bobby treat her so kindly in a long time. And, even as she felt like death, the sense of lonesomeness she had become accustomed to when Bobby wasn’t home, was held at bay by the gentle, selfless support of this stranger.

“Thank you…” she said, as the two of them returned to the bedroom. She collapsed back in the bed, feeling utterly wretched.

“No sweat,” Alicia said with a grin. “Where I hail from, we help each other. You don’t even have to ask, y’know?”

“And you come from… Richie’s hippie commune?”

“We don’t really call ourselves hippies,” she said, chuckling. “Call us free spirits. But yeah. We’re a community. That’s why it’s called a commune.”

“Well… I guess I mighta… jumped to conclusions about you people,” Brenda confessed. “I… well, I kinda thought you were smelly cowards who sat around doing drugs and burning American flags all day. No offence.”

Alicia’s chuckle graduated into peels of laughter. “Well, you sure are honest, I’ll give you that. I mean, some of that might have a little truth, but for me, it’s all about living for one another. Building things as a group.” She nudged Brenda’s shoulder with her own. “You might be pleased to know we just ditched all our drugs on Al—uh, I mean Richie’s request.”

“Really? Richie?” Brenda’s head swam. Had she… misjudged the errant twin?

Alicia nodded. “You want me to go get him? You can talk.”

Brenda reached for the aspirin, her head still feeling like a mariachi band had taken up residence in there and was playing its trumpets at top volume. “Maybe… not just yet.”

*        *        *

It was only as Sam A felt a tug on his vest that he realised he’d been sleeping. He opened his eyes, noting he was lying awkwardly on Bobby’s couch. His neck felt stiff and sore.

Mike was standing in front of him, and had been the source of the tug.

“Hey,” he said, giving the kid as best a smile he could with a face that hurt as much as his did. He straightened up, rubbing at his neck. “What can I do for you?”

It occurred to him that he still had no clue what Mike was doing here. Sam B had turned up with Marsha—that was to be expected; she was heavily invested in Richie’s well-being. But Alicia and Mike? Why had they tagged along? He was fairly sure his counterpart wouldn’t have been happy about their presence.

“How come you were fighting with your brother?” Mike asked.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sam said, knowing that answer would be completely inadequate for a kid this curious.

“I’m not stupid,” Mike protested. “Just ’cause I can’t read don’t mean I can’t understand stuff…”

Sam reached a hand out, clutching Mike’s shoulder. “I know, Mike. You’re real bright. But this is… something kind of hard for anybody to understand.”

Mike frowned. “Well, my Mom always says you don’t need to fight when you can talk. And if that doesn’t work, you just ‘gotta get some distance.’ Like when she left my Dad.”

“Your Mom is a smart lady,” Sam said. “I was trying to get some distance, you know. That’s what I came here for. I don’t think there’s much more talking I can do with him.” He chuckled, standing up. “But unfortunately, we still have some loose ends to tie up before you get Richie back. I just hope we don’t throttle each other first.”

He headed into the kitchen, aiming to refill his melted ice pack, but as he opened the refrigerator, the glowing white Imaging Chamber door opened in front of it, obscuring the view inside. As Sam jumped back, Al walked in through the doorway. Sam noticed that his eyes were rimmed red, and wondered what was the matter. But he didn’t seem to pay attention to Sam, instead turning back to the doorway and looking at something Sam couldn’t see.

“No, I’m not sure, but Ziggy said it’s the highest odds,” he said to what Sam assumed must have been Verbena. “Come on.” He watched the invisible person a moment longer before turning to Sam.

“You look… upset,” Sam said, cocking his head. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

Al shook his head. “It’s nothing, Sam. Don’t worry about it.” He turned back to the unseen person. “Look, we need to help him, right? He can’t go on being so conflicted… I know, but what else can we do?”

“Al, what’s going on?” Sam pressed. “What’s Verbena saying?”

Al grimaced. “It’s not Verbena I’m talking to.” He took a deep breath, and looked at Sam through worried brown eyes. “Though this was her idea. I think maybe we should go somewhere a little more private. Like out in the backyard.”

With narrow eyes, Sam nodded and headed out the kitchen door to the modest fenced-in yard, with Al following through the wall.

“What’s this about, Al?” Sam asked. “Who is it you’ve got with you? Gooshie?”

“Not Gooshie.”

Al reached out a hand, and a moment later, a woman appeared next to Al, grasping his hand.

“Hi, Sam.”

As Sam stared at the woman, recognition flooded into his mind, and in an instant, a huge chunk of Swiss cheese filled itself in.

“Donna…” With weakened knees, he let himself fall back against the wall of the house. With memories of his leap home now accessible, his eyes flooded with tears. “I forgot you again. Why can’t I—?”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Donna said, her eyes similarly teared up. “What’s important is that you remember me now. And I need you to know that your life matters to me, okay?”

She reached a hand out to him, and he reciprocated, only to have them pass through one another.

Sam sighed. “I… wish I could be there with you…”

“You will be some day,” she said, her voice husky. “You promised me. Remember?”

And then Sam understood why Verbena had suggested this. She needed him to understand Sam B’s longing to be home. And his need to survive long enough to return to his wife.

He wasn’t just a leaf on the wind, being blown from one place to another. He had a life waiting for him back home, and a woman he loved who he couldn’t let down.

Wiping tears from his swollen cheeks, he nodded to Al. “Al, you tell Verbena…” he sniffed, “tell her she’s amazing.”

He turned back to Donna. “I’m sorry I forgot you, Donna.”

“It’s for the best,” she said in a choked voice. “But I’ll be waiting for you. So you’d better come home some day, okay?”

Sam nodded. “I intend to keep that promise. I love you, Donna.”

“I love you too, Sam.”

The sound of a taxi pulling up in the driveway made all three turn their heads. Through the gate, Sam could see his other self getting out, his arm in a sling. He didn’t notice Donna promptly letting go of Al’s hand.

“Sam, what do you say we finish this leap?” Al asked.

“I’m ready if he is.”

Chapter 41

Support Network

Sam B’s head was still swimming with morphine, but he’d been allowed to go. As such, he had gotten himself a cab back to Bobby’s house, and as it pulled into the driveway, he prepared himself to face Sam A.

It wasn’t that he didn’t still think the guy was a jerk. He definitely was. He had the broken arm to prove that. But his encounter with Beth had made him rethink giving up. As such, he was willing to work with his twin long enough to get out of this nightmare of a leap. For the first time, he had a little hope that things might improve. That Brenda’s predicament might be solvable. That the two warring parts of himself could find a way forward together. If not for himself, then for Al.

Emerging from the taxi, he caught movement beyond the side gate, and spotted Sam A and Al standing there, both looking… emotionally raw. Maybe Al had been telling him about Beth.

He waved with his free arm.

“Whose funeral did I just walk in on?” he asked the stricken faces.

Sam A quirked a smile. “Let’s hope nobody’s, if we can figure out how to stop Brenda’s drinking.”

“I’m all ears,” Sam B said, resting his arms on the top of the gate and leaning over it. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome here, don’t you?”

Sam A’s face lit up. “You’re gonna work with me?”

“Only if you’re gonna work with me.” He heaved a sigh, squinting at Sam A’s swollen cheeks and jaw. “Listen, I’m sorry I kinda lost control earlier. Looks painful. I didn’t break your nose or give you concussion, did I?”

“No, it just smarts a lot,” Sam A said, before gesturing to Sam B’s arm sling. “And I’m sorry about that.”

“Okay, this is good,” Al chimed in. “You don’t need to be best pals, but you need to tolerate each other enough to wrap this thing up. And in that spirit, how’s about we go inside and see what stage of hangover Brenda’s in now?”

Sam B winced. “What does she know about what happened?”

“Enough to know her husband’s sticking around a little longer,” Sam A replied. “Alicia and Marsha have been helping her out, but she hasn’t been game to come out and see me yet.”

“Maybe if we both talk to her…” Sam B suggested.

“Y-yeah. Let’s go.”

Together, the three of them headed into the house.

In the living room, Mike scampered up to them. “Hi Mister Sam,” he said with a sheepish look, taking Sam B’s free hand and shaking it. “Sorry I thought you were Al.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Sam B said with a casual shrug. “Wanna sign my cast?”

“Mike doesn’t know how to write,” Sam A reminded him, before turning to the boy. “But I can probably write something on it for you. How’s that sound?”

“Okay!” Mike nodded enthusiastically. “Can you write ‘get well soon, from Mike’ and put a picture of a star?”

“I think I can do that,” Sam A said, grabbing a pen from the coffee table. As he wrote on the cast, Marsha and Alicia emerged from the hall with Brenda following behind, squinting at the sunlight streaming in the windows.

“Bobby…” she murmured, catching sight of the broken-armed Sam B.

Sam B, with the morphine still working its magic, was almost happy to see her as she regarded him with marked fondness.

“Hi Brenda,” he said with a crooked smile, and wiggled the fingers that stuck out the end of his plaster cast. “Guess you’re stuck with me a little while longer, huh?”

Brenda’s eyes moved to Mike, and confusion clouded her face. “Whose kid is that?”

“Oh, he was a stowaway on the bus,” Alicia explained. “His name’s Mike, and he’s a good kid, you know?”

Mike gave her a shy wave. “Hi,” was all he said before stepping partially behind Sam B and holding him by the hand.

“He’s the one who inspired me to build the classroom,” Sam A added, ruffling Mike’s hair before meeting Brenda’s eye. “Nice to see you again, by the way, Brenda,” he said with a genuine smile. “Sorry about the tension last time. I think my brother and I have… come to an understanding.”

Brenda flopped down onto the couch. “I guess I owe you thanks for bringing these two here,” she said to Sam A, gesturing to Alicia and Marsha. “They’ve been so kind to me…”

“That’s all you need, isn’t it?” Sam B said, sitting beside her. “People who’ll be there when you need a little help?”

He and Sam A exchanged a look as the same idea dawned upon the both of them.

Sam A took a seat on the other side of Brenda, and the two Sams looked up at Marsha and Alicia.

“Marsha,” Sam A began, “Brenda here is pregnant. And we think it’s best if she can quit drinking at least during the pregnancy.”

Sam B took Brenda by the hand. “What if one, or even both of you, moved in here for a little while? Maybe ’til the baby’s born?” He met Marsha’s eye. “You said yourself you might not be able to live at the ranch for much longer.”

At this, Sam A gave Sam B a look that showed he understood, despite the commune situation being unspoken between them.

“Would you… really do that just for me?” Brenda asked, eyes wide.

Alicia exchanged a quick but meaningful glance with Marsha before beaming at Brenda. “It’s like I said before: you don’t even have to ask.”

Marsha’s gaze flicked to Sam A. “Would… you be here too?”

Sam A took a deep breath. “I’m afraid I’ll be going to be going to jail for a bit,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Marsha.”

Brenda stared at him, her mouth agape. “You’re gonna turn yourself in?”

Sam A nodded solemnly. “Despite what you might have heard, I’m no coward.”

“Believe it or not,” Sam B added, “he’s doing it to save me. I need his statement that he started the fight that caused this, else I might be accused of doing it on purpose to get out of serving.”

“And well, I did start it…” Sam A admitted.

A moment of silence passed as this news sunk in. Nobody spoke except for Al, who was busily receiving new data from Ziggy.

“Sam…s… I think you might’ve done it. Brenda gives birth, and get this—it’s identical twin girls. And you know what? She names them Allison and Samantha. Ha! Guess she must have heard the alien stories from the hippies.” He slapped a hand against the handlink before grinning down at the two Sams. “Ziggy says there’s a ninety-three percent chance that as soon as you make that statement, you’ll both leap.”

With enormous relief, each Sam stood from the couch and looked one another in the eye.

“Well, I guess—”

“—that wasn’t so hard. We—”

“—just needed to think—”

“—as a team.”

Sam A looked around the room at everyone. “How about we have a nice dinner, and then I’ll go face the music?”

“Okay,” Brenda said, standing, “I’ll go see what I can rustle up…”

“Brenda, you’re pregnant,” Alicia protested. “Let us cook somethin’ up, okay? You get your rest.”

Brenda looked at Alicia a moment, before sitting back down, a look of sheer gratitude on her face. “Thank you…”

Sam B smiled weakly at his counterpart. “Richie’s really okay with this, huh?” he said in a low voice in Al’s direction.

“He made his mind up, Sam,” Al explained. “He and his brother have really made leaps and bounds in their relationship while they’ve been stuck together in the Waiting Room, too.” He sucked a freshly lit cigar. “It was a rough ride, but looks like we got there in the end. Be proud of yourselves.”

But as both Sams met one another’s eye, they knew they shared a gut feeling that there was still a piece missing.

Chapter 42

God, The Flow, or Whatever

The round kitchen table was crammed with occupants, with all six seats filled, and a spread of food in the centre. Sam A sat beside Marsha, and Sam B sat beside Brenda, with Mike and Alicia flanking each pair.

Al stood off to the side, watching the unlikely grouping all seeming to get along with one another. After seeing Brenda’s views on hippies and the war, he was impressed that they’d all managed to bring her around to accepting their help. It seemed Sam A had her pegged; she really just needed kindness and attention, and she was willing to accept it from anyone offering.

“So, about Moonstone Ranch…” Sam A piped up, looking with concern to Marsha. “You really think you’re gonna be kicked off the land?”

He glanced pointedly at Al, who took the hint, and queried the handlink.

Marsha sighed. “I mean, it seems inevitable now, don’t you think? With Danny out.”

“Oh, come on!” Alicia interjected. “Don’t forget The Flow, man! Al—uh, Richie—wouldn’t come to improve everything only for the universe to have us summarily kicked out of the place, now would he?”

Marsha quirked a smile. “Y-yeah. I guess I shouldn’t question The Flow after all that’s happened, should I?” She gave a pointed smile at Sam A.

“‘The… Flow?’” Sam B asked, head tilted.

“It’s a cosmic force, man. When we’re in need, The Flow brings us exactly what we’re looking for,” explained Alicia. “The Flow is why you showed up at the commune—” she gestured to Sam B, “—right when you were needed, ya dig? It’s what brought us here to help Brenda. It’s what broke that arm so you didn’t have to ship out. It’s all the right things happening at the right times. I just know that as long as we all ‘Go With The Flow,’ it’s gonna bring us a way to save the commune.”

“Oh no… so, ‘The Flow’ is a no-go—uh, bro,” Al cut in, reading from the handlink. “The land gets sold by Danny’s Papa, and they all get evicted in about six months. The land becomes…” he frowned, “…a failed date farm. Jeez.”

The Sams exchanged a glance. Al could see the wheels turning in their heads as their eyes narrowed.

“How much is the land worth?” Sam A asked, ostensibly to Marsha, but Al knew he was really asking Ziggy.

“Beats me,” Marsha said, shaking her head.

“It gets sold for five grand,” Al said. “Not exactly pocket change in 1970.”

The Sams both placed down their cutlery on their respective plates, and pushed out their chairs.

“Excuse us,” they said in perfect unison as they got up and headed for the living room. As Sam B passed Al, he gestured with his head for the Observer to follow.

Brenda watched them go, looking puzzled. “What are they…?”

“Oh, they’ve just gotta go commune with the mothership,” Marsha said casually, and raised a fork to her mouth as Brenda struggled to figure out what that meant.

Al passed through the wall to the Sams who awaited his entrance.

Sam A was the first to speak. “Al, what happens to the people at the commune after they’re kicked out? Mike, for example?” He gestured back to the kitchen.

Al punched at the handlink. “Mike… Mike who?”

Sam A thought a moment. “Frankston, I think.”

After a moment, Ziggy came back with the bad news. “Oh. He and his Mom become homeless, and she loses custody. He gets sent to his father… who proceeds to abuse him until he runs away in 1974. Ziggy has nothin’ on him after that.”

Sam B sighed. “I knew it wouldn’t be as easy as just making that damn statement and getting the hell out of here.”

Sam A nodded. “There’s no way we can let the commune get shut down. But where can we find five thousand dollars?”

“How much is Bobby’s house worth?” Sam B asked, glancing around the living room.

Al checked with Ziggy, and raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-six grand… they’ve paid off roughly forty percent of the mortgage so far.”

Both Sams gave Al the same look. As usual, they were way ahead of Al, even without verbally communicating with one another.

“Hang on a sec, you two,” he said, twirling his cigar, “You can’t just uproot Brenda and Bobby…”

“Sure we can,” Sam B said, smirking.

“Not in the next couple of hours you can’t. You still gotta go make that statement.”

The Sams looked at one another again.

“Leave it to us,” they said, once again in unison, before heading back to the kitchen and leaving Al feeling a little lost. He almost missed them arguing with each other.

It was mere seconds after the Sams had returned to the kitchen that the doorbell rang. A moment later, Brenda emerged from the kitchen and headed for the door with a curious expression.

She opened the door to reveal Jenny, holding up two bottles of wine and grinning.

“Hiya!” she said cheerfully. “Figured you’d want some company with Bobby gone, and—” she stopped abruptly when she saw Sam B coming up behind Brenda. “Bobby?”

“Bobby broke his arm,” Brenda explained, “so he’s gonna be staying a while longer.” She smiled back at Sam.

Sam B raised an eyebrow as he looked upon Brenda’s friend. “Whatcha doing with that wine, Jenny?”

Jenny lowered the wine bottles, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh… nothing. I—I have to go.” She turned tail and scurried away.

Al wondered what the heck that reaction was all about, as Sam B placed a hand on Brenda’s shoulder.

“That woman is a bad influence,” he muttered.

Brenda heaved a sigh. “I guess she is…” she rested her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes I feel like I wanna just get away from this rut.”

“Me too,” Sam said, winking at Al. He led her back to the kitchen and let her go in while he hung back, turning back to Al. “Why don’t you go talk to Bobby? I think he owes Richie a favour.”

*           *            *

Al left the Imaging Chamber to find Verbena and Donna sitting on the floor against the wall of the Control Room. Donna looked about as emotionally wrung out as Al felt.

“Ladies,” he greeted them with a tip of his head. “Donna, you doin’ okay?”

Donna nodded, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah. I’ll be alright,” she assured him, despite her shaky voice. “It was just a lot to talk to him again. Even if he looked like somebody else. And it was only half of him.”

“Trust me, I know how you feel,” Al said, still feeling his heartbreak from seeing a remarried Beth. “Well, you might feel better to know that the Sams are not only getting along, they’re well on the way to leaping. Hopefully only a couple hours now, if we can figure out this last puzzle piece.”

“That’s great to hear,” Verbena said, and squeezed Donna’s hand. “It was all thanks to your visit,” she said with a smile.

“I still don’t know if it was a good idea to remind him of me,” Donna said with a frown.

“He needed it,” Verbena asserted. “That part of him needed reminding that there’s someone waiting for him. Someone who needs him safe.”

“I know…” Donna murmured. “I just hope that he can keep on doing what he has to do. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… I hope he forgets me again.”

“I guess time will tell,” Al said, looking down at her with tired eyes. “Whether he remembers you or not, he loves the hell out of you. Just remember that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I gotta go see the twins. Take care, okay?”

Donna nodded, her face still sullen, as Al turned and headed for the Waiting Room.

*           *            *

As the group finished their meal, Sam B found himself acting strangely affectionate to Brenda, despite everything. It felt as though he and his counterpart had reached matching wavelengths, and as such he figured maybe the two of them were slowly beginning to regain access to the other’s traits and feelings.

Or maybe it was just the morphine.

Either way, he had Brenda’s hand entwined in his, and it felt nice. Sam A, however, was acting a little standoffish towards Marsha, who was nuzzling his neck as he leaned ever-so-slightly away from her, his cheeks flushed. Sam B idly wondered why he’d be acting that way, but chalked it up to it being his more prudish side coming out.

They locked eyes for a moment, and an unspoken prompt sent Sam A standing from his seat.

“That was a terrific dinner,” he said, grinning down at Alicia and Marsha. “Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s just something I have to take care of before I head to the police station.”

He disappeared from the kitchen, as Sam B began to rub Brenda’s shoulders. “I think things are gonna work out for us, Brenda,” he murmured into her ear. “As long as we’re a part of a caring community.”

“How do you know, Bobby?” she asked, turning and looking into his eyes.

“Call it The Flow,” he said, before kissing her on the nose.

Chapter 43

Neutron

When Al returned to the Imaging Chamber, both Sams were standing on the porch of the house, leaning against the railing and watching the suburban evening in quiet contemplation. At the sound of the door, they turned their heads towards it as Al emerged.

“Well?” Sam B asked, looking impatient.

Al shrugged. “Bobby told me he’s willing to do whatever he can to help out the commune.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Sam B said, grinning.

Al screwed up his nose. “Is Brenda gonna agree to whatever you’ve got in mind?”

The Sams exchanged a smug look.

“Why don’t you check with Ziggy?” Sam A asked.

“Check with… okay…” Al looked down at the handlink, requesting the most recent data. To his surprise, things really had changed. “How did you manage that so quickly?” he asked, incredulous.

“Come on—tell us what happens, would you?” Sam B coaxed. “We know we changed things, but you need to give us the specifics.”

Al read from the handlink, impressed. “It looks like Bobby and Brenda refinance their house and buy up the land when it goes on sale. And when Bobby ships out to Vietnam, Brenda moves there to dry out. The commune is saved… and Brenda ends up teaching the kids when the schoolhouse is built.” He peered up at the two Sams, and both looked incredibly proud of themselves.

“Seriously though,” Al continued, “how did you do it?”

“Never underestimate the value of a well-worded letter,” Sam A said with a self-satisfied wink.

“A letter?”

“Well,” Sam A said, folding his arms, “with the whole ‘star child’ cover story that I know Marsha and Alicia will be telling when we’re gone—”

“—it seemed safe enough to leave behind some requests for Bobby when he leaps back in,” added Sam B.

“I gave it to Marsha to give to Bobby later,” Sam A concluded.

Al frowned. “Well, I have no idea if that breaks the rules or not, to be honest. But hey—looks like it’s gonna work. So I’ll take the win.” He shrugged. “So let’s just finish this leap and get outta here, huh?”

Both Sams nodded vigorously.

“Just gotta say our goodbyes,” Sam A said, heading for the front door with Sam B following.

Inside, Brenda was reclining on the couch while Marsha passed her a freshly brewed cup of tea, and Alicia and Mike were setting up The Game of Life board game on the coffee table. Everyone seemed to be getting along famously.

Eyes moved to the Sams as they entered, and the two doppelgängers stood by the door, each wearing a bittersweet expression on their faces.

“Well, it’s time we went,” Sam A said, with a pointed look at Marsha. She crossed the room, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Are you sure Richie wants this?” she whispered into his ear.

He nodded. “Trust me, this was his decision. I’m sure he’ll call, okay?”

Marsha nodded. “Thank you, Al,” she said, before planting a kiss on his lips. This caused him to look guiltily towards Al, who pretended not to see it.

Alicia was the next to hug Sam A, as Marsha moved on to Sam B.

“Listen, back at the commune…” Sam B said quietly. “That was—”

“I know. It wasn’t Bobby,” Marsha whispered back with a wink. “We won’t tell.” She patted him on the cheek. “Thank you for helping Al and Richie.”

Mike ran over to the Sams, hugging each of them. “You’re leaving?”

Sam A nodded. “Yeah, you won’t be seeing me or Richie for a while,” he said, crouching. “But you have to promise me you’ll learn to read, okay?” He held out a pinky finger, and Mike grabbed it with his own.

“Promise!” Mike said, and turned to Sam B. “Bye Mister Sam. Oh, and tell Bingo bye too.”

“I will, kid.”

“I heard ya,” Al said, chuckling.

From the couch, Brenda watched in curiosity. “Bobby’s not going to jail, is he? Why are you saying goodbye to him?”

Marsha turned to her, grinning. “Oh boy, do we have a story to tell you.”

“Uh, you can go ahead and do that, but we gotta go,” Sam B said, hiking a thumb over his shoulder.

“So, uh,” Sam A added, “Bobby should be seeing you a bit later. Okay?”

With a final wave, they headed out the door.

*           *            *

“Hi, we need to make a statement,” Sam A said to the police officer at the desk. He looked the two bruised and battered Sams up and down, eyebrows raised.

“You two get in a fight or somethin’?”

“You should see the other guy,” both Sams said in unison, each pointing a finger to the other.

The cop snorted. “Alright, take a seat, an officer will be with you shortly.”

They sat on the uncomfortable chairs by the door, looking at one another, as Al stood watching.

“So, I was wondering—what psychological magic trick did Verbena pull to get you to work with me?” Sam A asked Sam B.

“Well, it wasn’t really Verbena that did it.” Sam B looked up at Al. “A familiar face showed up to set my bone.” He turned back to his counterpart. “Remember Beth Calavicci?”

Sam A’s eyes widened. “Oh boy.”

“It helped me realise that… maybe it’s not so bad leaping if I can have a chance to help the people I care about.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, the painkillers probably helped too.”

Sam A chuckled at this. “Guess so.”

“And what about you? What convinced you to work with me?”

Al tensed up as Sam A opened his mouth to answer, but he was mercifully interrupted by the officer who’d come to take their statements.

“Gentlemen, this way please.”

One statement later, the ‘twins’ sat quietly together in an interrogation room as the officers tried to make sure they were arresting the right twin for draft dodging.

As the officer stepped out of the room with their statements, Sam B turned to Sam A once more.

“So, you were saying? What got you to work with me?”

Sam A rubbed the back of his neck, eyes welling up, as Al bit his lip. This was a bad idea. If Sam B remembered Donna, he would be more resentful about leaping than ever.

“Well…” Sam A said slowly, “…it was Do—”

And then Sam leaped.

*           *            *

The moment the leap overtook the two Sams, they immediately felt whole again.

Perhaps more whole than Sam had in a long time, despite his continued Swiss cheese memory. His vision filled up with a sparkling blue light and he found himself feeling a renewed drive to tackle whatever new challenge was coming his way.

And when he found himself corporeal once again, he was holding a piece of chalk to a chalkboard.

He was pretty sure he’d been about to say something a moment ago, but whatever it was had vacated his mind with the leap like a dissipating wisp of Al’s cigar smoke.

As he looked at the chalkboard, he saw that whoever he’d leaped into had just written a basic algebra equation:

4 - x + 8 = 9

“Thank you, dear,” came a voice Sam was sure he recognised. Sam turned his head to see… who was that again? Boy, she looked familiar. Long black hair… yeah, he knew this woman. And he’d seen her recently. But she was older.

He placed the chalk down as he began to hear the sound of a small child giggling behind him.

He spun around, seeing that he was in a small classroom populated by a handful of kids of all ages. Boy, it sure looked familiar.

“So who can tell me what x is?” the woman—teacher—asked the class. She winked at Sam. “Other than you.”

A hand shot up. It was one of the youngest children here, Sam realised. Probably no older than five. Unless he was looking at a fellow genius, it seemed unlikely this small girl knew the answer.

“What is it, Allie?” the teacher asked, frowning.

“Where did Mike go?”

The teacher furrowed her brow. “What do you mean? He’s standing right here.” She gestured to Sam.

“Mom, that isn’t Mike,” the little girl next to Allie chimed in. An identical twin. “It’s an old guy.”

“Yeah,” Allie agreed. “And there was a big blue light. Didn’t you see?”

Sam swallowed, and as he sifted through his jumbled memories, he began to piece together who these people were.

“Oh boy…”

Chapter 44

Return of the Star Child

The memories of the previous leap began to crystallise as Sam found himself, once again, identified from the beginning. And apparently, by the very twins he’d just helped to bring into existence.

I was… two people, he realised with a jolt. Has that ever happened before?

Two separate versions of himself, and neither had been the most rational of actors. He could only hope that he was one guy again, and there wasn’t a second Sam wandering around in parts unknown.

He didn’t feel angry, or euphoric, or frustrated, or contented. Primarily, he felt disoriented. Which came with the territory, certainly. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to take stock of his emotional processes.

“What do you mean, a ‘blue light?’” the teacher—Brenda? Yeah, it’s really Brenda. Wow. She looks well.—asked her children, eyes narrowed.

The two small girls shrugged as they continued to gawk at Sam.

“I dunno, it went whoosh! And then that man was there instead of Mike,” said the girl that Sam assumed must be Samantha, since the other one seemed to be Allison.

“Is it Al?” Allie piped up. “Did Al come back?”

“Or maybe Sam,” Samantha added.

Sam stepped back as he felt the eyes of the room on him. He met Brenda’s eye, who was looking at him with curiosity.

“Hmm,” she said quietly. “Mike…?”

Sam gave Brenda a nervous grin. “Uh, yes?”

So I’m really Mike? Sam’s thoughts lingered on the ten-year-old child who hadn’t been able to read. Now he was writing algebra in quite legible print. It must have been about five years since the last leap took place, given the apparent age of the twins. Which would make Mike a teenager. You kept your promise…

And then he realised that Mike would be in the Waiting Room. He stifled a chuckle as he thought how excited he might be to meet Bingo.

“Well…?” Brenda continued. “Do we have another—” she cleared her throat awkwardly, “—er, ‘star child’ on our hands…?” She looked as though she almost wanted to believe it.

“Well, uh, the thing is—” he scratched the back of his neck. Dare he admit to it? Ugh, he just had to buy time. “Uh—I have to use the restroom.”

With that, he scooted out of the schoolhouse for which he now remembered laying the foundations, and emerged, laying his eyes on the new Moonstone Ranch.

The dome was still the most prominent part of the landscape, but now there were a number of new structures, and perhaps twice as many tepees dotting the land as there once had been.

The outhouses and shower shacks had been overhauled into a solid brick amenities block, and it appeared that a parking lot had been built just off the road. The old school bus sat there, still painted in all its colours, among several cars and a large sign that read:

Moonstone Ranch

Intentional Community and Rehabilitation Retreat

Sam smiled as he realised that he’d facilitated all of this change.

Though he was aware he’d be expected back in the classroom soon, he headed down the slope towards the parking lot, seeing that someone in a jumpsuit had the bus’s hood opened up and was working on it.

“Okay, give it some juice,” called out the man at the front of the bus, and the engine roared to life.

As Sam got closer he realised he recognised the man that had last been his reflection sitting in the driver’s seat of the bus. And as he got a look at the man working on the engine, he realised that he too had the same face.

It was then that he recalled Bobby had been a mechanic.

Bobby noticed him approach, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, throwing an oily rag over his shoulder.

“Hey there, Mikey!” he said cheerfully. “You’re just in time to see our resurrection of the ol’ bus.” He flipped a spanner in his hand with a proud flourish.

“Nice job,” Sam said, listening to the engine. “Sounds even better than it used to, I think.”

“Amazing what a new engine can do,” Bobby said, shutting the hood and climbing down from his stepladder.

“Do I shut ’er down, Bobby?” called Richie, leaning out the window.

“Yeah, we’re done here,” Bobby said, giving a thumbs up. The engine was cut, and Richie climbed out of the bus, revealing his loose tie-dyed t-shirt and flared jeans. He’d let his wavy blond hair grow out, and it sat bunched at his shoulders. Well, he was certainly still a hippie.

Richie flashed Sam a smile, before catching sight of something behind him.

Sam turned to see Brenda approaching. She was still staring at Sam curiously.

“Restroom, huh?” she said as she reached earshot.

Sam shrugged. “I got, uh, sidetracked.”

“He was attracted by the lure of the roaring engine,” Bobby said, and leaned over to kiss Brenda on the cheek as she reached them. “This baby’s got a few more miles in her yet.”

“That’s great, honey,” Brenda said, “but we have… um, a situation.” She looked pointedly at Sam. “Our girls swear they just saw a flash of blue light and Mike turned into somebody else.”

“You kiddin’?” Richie said, and turned an eye to Sam.

They’re all staring at me again, Sam thought, gritting his teeth. It felt like he hadn’t been without intense scrutiny for a few leaps.

“That’s what they said,” Sam mumbled, taking a step away from the three familiar faces.

“Far out,” Richie said, closing the gap between himself and Sam. “You another star child, man? I always wanted to meet one. Sure beats pukin’ my guts out night and day in the mothership.”

“You remember that?” Sam blurted out, and covered his mouth as he realised his mistake.

“Well jeez,” breathed Bobby, “I guess you really are one.” He joined Richie, and the two sets of blue eyes studied Sam’s face with intense interest.

“Which one is he?” Richie asked his brother. “Could it be Al?”

“I hope so,” Bobby said, “’cause I’d love to thank him for the letter.”

“Me too,” Richie agreed, gesturing broadly to the Ranch. “He made all this possible, after all.”

Sam, now cornered, figured there was no point pretending any longer. “Boy, there’s really no way to be incognito around here, is there?” He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m Al.”

He winced, looking at Bobby. “Sorry about the wrist.”

Bobby laughed. “That’s ancient history, Al. Besides, it worked out for the best.”

Sam nodded, relieved, but looked to Richie. “Uh, and sorry about sending you to prison.”

Richie hitched a shoulder. “I’m a free man now, so don’t sweat it.” He grinned, looking to the Ranch sign. “Got released on condition of community service, and this place counts now that it’s a rehab joint—so hey, it all worked out.”

“You wanna see Marsha?” Brenda asked, her head popping in between the twins.

Well, thought Sam, I have no idea what I’m back here for, but I might as well see what everyone’s up to while I wait for Al to show.

He nodded, and allowed the twins to escort him to the dome, while Brenda returned to her teaching duties.

“It was wild hearing about your exploits, Al,” Richie gushed. “Who’da thought Danny would turn out to be such a dirtbag? Man, I wish I coulda seen the look on his face when he found out I had a twin.”

“When I came back, and saw a house full of hippies, I admit I was a little confused,” Bobby chimed in. “I had only the fuzziest of memories of everything that had happened. But Marsha filled me in, and then she gave me your letter, and that’s when I started to remember some of what happened on the mothership.”

“It was a trip, man,” Richie continued. “And when we got back, suddenly we were totally in sync, even while I was in jail. I somehow understood that I was there because I wanted to be.”

“And I understood that I had to save this place—for my brother,” Bobby concluded.

“I’m really glad it worked out for you,” Sam said as the three of them crossed the threshold into the dome. It had been converted into some sort of function centre, and there was a woman speaking into a microphone on the stage, addressing a number of people in rows of seats.

As Sam squinted at the woman, he realised it was Marsha.

“…And even though it’ll be a hard road,” she said, “the benefits of sobriety far outweigh the pain and struggles of addiction. I hope you enjoy your stay, and I look forward to talkin’ to each one of you over dinner. Remember: everyone’s here to help each other. That’s what Moonstone Ranch is all about.”

Light applause signalled the end of her speech, and she stepped down off the stage, catching sight of Bobby, who was waving her over.

She approached them with a tilted head. “Hey boys! You get the bus started up?”

“Yeah, but we have bigger news than that,” Richie said, beaming as he pushed Sam in the back, prompting him to lurch forward. “Mike’s hosting a star child.”

“It’s Al,” Bobby added.

Marsha’s jaw dropped. “No shit?”

She leaned forward, studying Sam’s eyes closely. “Hmm, I don’t see hazel,” she said in a disappointed tone, turning to Richie. “Guess a lack of drugs’ll do that. You sure this is…?”

“Allie and Sam saw a blue light around Mike,” Bobby said.

Marsha grinned. “That’s just what I saw back in the day. Guess that confirms it.”

She wrapped her arms around Sam, who stiffly hugged her back.

“You hug just the same,” she said, laughing.

Sam smiled at her sheepishly. “I guess I do.”

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, taking his hand. “You have more work to do?”

“I… well, probably,” Sam replied. “Just gotta wait for… the mothership to call.”

Where was Al, anyway?

Chapter 45

Reading, Writing, and Recidivism

When Al opened the door of the Waiting Room to see who’d just arrived—Ziggy had paged him right as he was about to bite into a sandwich—the teenager sitting on the table snapped his head towards him, and gave an excited look.

“Oh, man! It’s just like Richie said,” he proclaimed, swinging his legs as his eyes roamed the blue room. “Better than Star Trek…”

Al raised an eyebrow. It had barely been an hour since the two Sams had leaped out of 1970. Al thought he might be able to get a nice sleep for once, but it was not to be. And now… Al squinted as he looked at the kid.

“Wait… Mike, right?” he said as he recognised the features of the boy. At least it wasn’t twins now. Well, he didn’t think Mike had a twin, at any rate.

“Yup!” Mike confirmed, and looked down at Al’s suit. “And who are you? Are you Al? Is Al short for alien? I always wanted to know but I never got to ask last time. Is this place in space or back on your home planet? Are you a carbon-based life form or something else? Can I see the blue orb that knows all of history? Does it know the meaning of life? Can I ask it? And are you the same kind of aliens that crashed at Roswell? Is it true y’all built Atlantis?”

Al pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jeez, slow down kid. Uh, first off… I’m, ahh… Bingo, remember?”

“Oh yeah! Like the dog. I remember. Funny name for an alien.”

“And no, you can’t see the blue orb.” Just how much had Sam told this kid, anyway? “Anyway, you just have to wait around a while in here, okay? A lady will be in shortly to make sure you’re doing alright. If you need anything, just ask her.”

Mike frowned. “Is that it? I just have to sit in here and do nothin’? Do you at least have books?”

Al smiled. “You can read now, huh?”

“Of course!” he replied proudly. “I made a promise to Al to learn, and I learnt.” 

“Good for you, Mike. I’ll see what I can do about finding you some books. What do you like to read?”

“Anything!” Mike announced. “Brenda says I read as well as she does. So gimme something hard.”

“Brenda says so, huh?” Al smirked. “Okay. Well, I think some of the literature we have here might be a bit hard even for you,” he said, thinking about the advanced quantum physics tomes in Sam’s office that even Donna sometimes struggled to comprehend, “but I’m sure we’ll find something for you.”

“Thanks, Bingo!” Mike said with a cheerful smile.

Endless curiosity in that kid, Al thought as he sauntered out of the Waiting Room, wondering what Sam could possibly be doing back in the boy’s life.

*           *            *

“You really spruced up this place,” Sam commented as Marsha led him out the back doors of the dome, leading into a small apartment that had apparently been built in the last five years. “You all really took my plans and ran with ’em, huh?”

Richie and Bobby followed them into the quarters and sat on a couple of matching recliners within that seemed to be their personal spots in the small living room, overlooking a television set.

“It was a solid foundation,” Marsha said brightly. “Since the Sheriff’s department decided to start breathing down our necks for drugs, Brenda and Alicia had the idea of making the place a clean rehab retreat.”

“I imagine that didn’t go down so well with about half of the folks here,” Sam mused, as he pictured how divided the commune had been when he’d proposed getting rid of their stash the first time around.

Marsha chuckled. “It sure did shake things up. Lots of people left, but those that stayed have been very loyal to the group. Without the drugs, the place has been very peaceful. Even if the cops do keep a close eye on us.”

Sam was about to ask why they would still keep such a close eye on the place when the Imaging Chamber door finally sounded. He turned his head to the noise to see Al stepping through the glowing doorway, right into Bobby’s lap. He looked down with a start, and stepped away from the recliner.

“Well, would you look at that,” he said, waving a hand towards Sam. “You’re a complete set again.”

Sam turned to Marsha, raising a finger and opening his mouth to speak.

“Mothership calling?” she asked, grinning.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“Be my guest,” she said, leaving his side to sit on Richie’s lap and begin making out with the surprised hippie twin.

Al watched her go, an eyebrow raised. “What—they know? Again? So much for the secret government project, huh?”

Sam shrugged, giving a crooked smile. “Bobby and Brenda’s twins saw me arrive. There was nothin’ I could do.”

Al smirked, pulling a cigar from his jacket. “Well, that might make things easier. You remember everything that happened last time?”

“I think so,” Sam said, rubbing his chin. “At least the gist of it, and I’m glad to be back in one piece with all my emotional faculties in order.” He shuddered, thinking about all the bad decisions that had made everything worse. “I know I’m Mike now, too. Have you spoken to him in the Waiting Room?”

“Yeah, kid’s got a million questions. And wants books.”

Sam smiled at this. “That’s great. Everything seems to be going amazing here, Al. So why am I back?”

Al lit his cigar and took a puff before answering. “Sometime in the next two hours, Richie’s gonna get busted for possession of narcotics, and sent back to prison.”

“What?” Sam hissed. “He wouldn’t… would he?”

“Beats me,” Al said. “I mean, he is a hippie, so it wouldn’t surprise anyone that he might have a secret stash. But he’s right here in front of you, so you might as well ask him, right?”

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, and proceeded to the recliner where Marsha sat atop Richie as the two of them explored one another with their hands and mouths.

Bobby was looking up at Sam with an amused expression. “Good luck prying them apart,” he said, chin in hand. “Got a crowbar?”

Sam shared a chuckle with him as he leaned over the writhing mass of limbs and tapped Marsha on the shoulder.

In a strange coincidence, the shoulder taps coincided with knocks on the door. Sam looked up as Bobby got out of his seat and opened it, revealing Alicia, a manilla folder clutched to her chest.

“Hey Bobby!” she said, voice as melodic and cheerful as ever. “I was just going over the finances and—” she locked eyes with Sam, “—oh, hi Mike. Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Brenda let him go early,” Bobby explained. “I don’t think she has much to teach a guy who built a hydroelectric generator.”

Alicia raised an eyebrow. “Huh?” She turned her eye to Sam, questioning.

“Uh, Mike got… beamed up,” Sam said sheepishly.

Alicia’s mouth fell open. “Al’s back?” At Bobby’s nod, she threw herself against Sam, squeezing him. With her short stature, she buried her head in his chest. “Hi Al! Oh my God!”

“Hey… take it easy,” Sam said. As wonderful as it was to be able to revisit people from a previous leap—he couldn’t remember that ever happening before—he had more pressing concerns than reunions. He pulled away from Alicia and returned to Marsha and Richie, who had thankfully stopped sucking face and were looking up at Alicia. “Richie, we need to talk…”

Richie gave Sam a casual, easy smile. “Alrighty. Shoot.” He returned his attention to Marsha, kissing her shoulder.

“Uh—we might want to talk about this privately,” Sam said, exchanging a glance with Al.

Richie cocked his head. “Why? What’s this about?”

Marsha, taking the hint, climbed off him. “Go on, babe.” She nodded to Sam, smiling.

Richie stood with a shrug, and headed for a glass side door that led outside. Sam followed, and Al passed through the wall and awaited his arrival.

Closing the door, Richie frowned. “So what’s this about?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Richie, are you hiding drugs?”

Richie’s brow creased. “What? Nah, man. Not with the pigs hassling us all the time—I’m on conditional release! I’m not stupid enough to get myself arrested again for nothing.”

Sam pursed his lips. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Al—come on! I’m clean, okay? Haven’t so much as smoked a doobie since I got out of the clink, much as I coulda used one.”

A series of noises came from the handlink as Al pressed buttons. “Well, Ziggy says he’s found with cocaine and cannabis on his person. At least, that’s what the cops reported.”

Sam frowned. “Just to be absolutely sure…” he gestured to Richie’s jeans. “Would you mind turning out your pockets?”

Richie furrowed his brow, but did as asked. The only thing in his pockets was some loose change.

“See? Nothin’, man. I don’t know why you’re asking all this.”

Sam exchanged a baffled look with Al.

“Neither do I.”

Chapter 46

Everywhere There’s Lots of Piggies

The only thing Sam could do with Ziggy’s prediction was to stick close to Richie. And so, he found himself at a large table eating a vegetable stew for lunch with a range of familiar faces; though, for the majority of them, he was unable to conjure up names from his Swiss cheese memory.

Brenda had joined them, and the twins sat on either side of her, their eyes unwavering as they watched Sam eat. When he met each of their eyes and smiled, they giggled.

“How come the girls can see Al for how he really is?” Alicia asked, as she watched the twins with great amusement.

“It’s an age thing,” Sam said. “Small children see the truth.”

“I’ve heard about that kinda thing,” Marsha mused. “That’s why little kids see ghosts so much more than adults. Some kinda latent psychic ability that gets filtered out as they age and become more set in their ways.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as if it were simple truth.

“Something like that,” Sam said, knowing it was more related to the natural alpha brain waves of children, if he recalled correctly.

As Sam brought his spoon to his mouth, a familiar tune began to drift from a record player in the room. He looked up to Richie, who had put on ‘Ziggy Stardust’. He spun around from the turntable, grinning.

“They told me you played this your first night here,” he said as he returned to his seat. “Two years before it was released by Bowie. It’s always been a debate as to whether it was you seeing the future or you were just friends with Bowie and he’d played it for you before—and honestly? Neither would surprise me.”

Sam blushed as his gaze dropped to his meal. “I don’t know Bowie,” he said, implicitly confirming the alternate theory.

“Of course he sees the future, Richie,” Marsha said, shaking her head. “He knew about the drug raid, remember?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, I know. And now he’s tellin’ me there’s a rematch on the way.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brenda, raising an eyebrow.

“Look, don’t ask me how I know,” Sam said, “but the police will be coming here—I don’t know exactly when, but soon—and Richie’s gonna get arrested for possession.”

“Except that I ain’t got any dope,” Richie said firmly, stabbing a piece of potato in his bowl with a fork.

Sam nodded. “Right. So, something fishy is going on. And we need to be vigilant.”

“Why can’t the damn pigs leave us the hell alone?” Alicia griped. “We’re probably the cleanest place in the county.”

“I just don’t know,” Marsha said, taking Alicia’s hand.

“Oh, am I going to see some more action between these two?” Al asked, popping into the room and looking lecherously down at the women. His leer was cut short, however, by the twin girls squealing as they spotted him. “Oh, jeez, I forgot they could see me too.” He turned to the girls, waving. “Hey kiddos. Don’t mind me. I’m here to help.”

“Are you Bingo?” said one of the twins—judging by the clothes, Sam surmised it to be Allison.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Al said. “Like the dog.”

Sam stifled a laugh as Brenda looked to the empty space at which the twins were staring. She turned an eye to Sam.

“What are they seeing this time?”

“Just my… friend in the mothership… broadcasting an image of himself across… uh, the galaxy.”

Brenda frowned, but accepted his claim. He supposed she’d had enough time to start to accept all the strange things happening around her.

“You know. Like dogs are known to do,” Al added for the benefit of the children, before turning to Sam. “Listen, I’m gonna go stand watch by the road and let you know when these bozos in blue are comin’.”

Sam nodded his approval of that plan, and with a tap of the handlink, Al blinked out of the room—to the eternal delight of Allison and Samantha.

*           *            *

Appearing by the roadside, Al took a long drag of his cigar and peered around the commune, which he was impressed to see had become quite developed. Of course, it was a bit more dull than it used to be, what with everyone keeping on the straight and narrow. But then, the things that happened in those tepees at night were probably still pretty steamy. If only he could stick around a little longer.

The sight of several vehicles coming over the horizon rocked him from his reverie, and he squinted, seeing a sheriff’s star on the hood of one of the cars.

“Showtime,” he muttered, before centring himself back on Sam in the dining hall.

The little girls let out another raucous squeal, and he wiggled his fingers at them.

“If only my ex-wives had been as happy to see me as you two are,” he said, chuckling, before turning to Sam. “They’re coming, Sam.”

Sam nodded solemnly. “How far away?”

Al pounded his fist on the handlink in an attempt to make it give up its information more readily. “ETA… uh, five minutes, based on their speed and distance.”

Sam turned to Richie. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. If—well, uh—if you’ve been holding out on us, now’s the time to admit to it.”

Richie’s face fell into a look of hurt. “I’m clean, alright? I swear to… to whatever you aliens call God.”

Sam took a moment to search Richie’s eyes, before nodding. “I believe you, Richie.” He looked up at Al. “I’ll stick to Richie, you watch the cops. Anything unusual, you sing out.”

“You bet,” Al said, tapping the ash from his cigar.

Sam turned back to his friends at the table. “Okay, I suggest we meet the cops outside when they get here. The more open the area, the less likely it is something fishy happens. Everyone keep your eyes peeled for funny business. I get the feeling someone has it in for Richie.”

With a collective nod, the team rose from their seats, and they all began filing out of the dining hall, while Al simply tapped a button and materialised back under the desert sun to watch them emerge.

After a few more minutes, the cruisers pulled into the parking lot, while Richie, Bobby, and Sam leaned against the side of the bus, watching.

Marsha, Brenda, Alicia, and the girls stood just off the paved area, and Al stood in the middle of the parking lot, keeping a close eye on the first car to pull up, which looked like the Sheriff’s cruiser.

A quick check of the handlink told him that the Sheriff was Wayne Kaufman—same as it had been in 1970. And his deputy was… oh boy.

“Sam…” Al said as the Sheriff and deputy emerged from the car. “Remember how Danny’s Daddy is the Sheriff of the county? Well, guess who he’s appointed deputy.”

Sam gave him a questioning look, before his eyes moved to the deputy in question.

It was Danny.

“Afternoon, folks,” Sheriff Kaufman said, tipping his hat without a shred of friendliness. “Seems we’ve had an anonymous tip that there might be illegal narcotics on this here ranch.”

“You got a warrant?” Marsha asked flatly. “If not, you can just move on, Sheriff.”

Police officers began to pour out of the other cruisers, as Danny took a few steps toward the twins, their faces reflected in his sunglasses.

“We’ve got a warrant to search one Richard Deleon,” he said, putting a fresh cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. He took a drag on it and looked Bobby and Richie up and down before removing it and pointing it towards Richie. “Guessin’ you’re him, going by the clothes. Am I right?”

Richie narrowed his eyes. “So you’re a pig now.”

Danny snorted. “You’d better watch your mouth, Richie. Cops tend to get a bit rough when you call ’em pigs. Don’t want me to accidentally hurt you, now do we?”

Al focused his gaze closely on Danny for any suspicious moves. It had to be him.

“Watch this nozzle, Sam. If he goes to frisk Richie, I betcha he’ll conveniently find something that wasn’t there before.”

“Why are you singling me out?” Richie demanded. “I ain’t done squat!”

“Well, you’ve been in prison,” Danny said, grinning. “It’s well known that criminals can’t help but re-offend.”

“I was in prison for draft dodging and you know it,” Richie said. “Not exactly a violent offender, now am I?”

“Well, I happen to know your history with drugs,” Danny retorted. “You got lucky that you didn’t get put away five years ago.”

“Luck had nothin’ to do with it,” Alicia added coolly. “And it was why you got kicked out of here. I’m sure you remember.”

“I do remember getting kicked out,” Danny snapped. “Out of my own damn home, after all I did for you people.”

“Settle down, son,” the Sheriff said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here to uphold the law, not get in petty disputes.”

Danny shrugged off his hand and moved up close to Richie. “Turn around, hands up against the bus.”

With a pleading glance at Sam, Richie did as commanded, and Danny moved in to frisk him. As he did, Al watched him surreptitiously pull a couple of dime bags from his pocket.

“He’s planting evidence, Sam! I caught him red-handed!”

Sam moved to grab at Danny, but the Sheriff stepped in the way.

“Now son, don’t you get in the way of police business.”

“But—”

“Oh, looky here,” Danny said, producing the drugs. “Cursory inspection looks like coke and cannabis.” He clicked his tongue. “Oh Richie, you’ve done it this time.”

“That ain’t mine and you know it!” Richie spat. “You corrupt piece of—”

“Well, I guess no star children are around to save you this time,” Danny commented with a smug grin. “Too bad.”

At this, Sam pushed aside the Sheriff and grabbed at Danny’s collar, slamming him against the bus.

“Guess again, Danny.” He balled his hand into a fist.

“Sam, no—!” Al cried out as the cops milling around all pulled their guns and pointed them at Sam.

Sam looked back at Al, realising his predicament. He loosened his grip on Danny’s shirt. “Any ideas?” he asked the hologram.

“Who are you talking to, Mike?” Danny asked, following Sam’s line of sight towards Al.

“The Great Gazoo,” Sam said drily. “You remember him, don’t you?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re claiming to be a star child now,” Danny said, smirking. “Kid, you’re smarter than that.”

Sam glanced at Al once again, a gleam in his eye that suggested he had an idea. He turned back to Danny, straightening the deputy’s collar and tapping him on the cheek.

“After all we’ve been through, Danny, I would have thought you’d recognise me. The PCP. The cigarette burn. Your little plan to get me put away. Did you ever get those sunglasses repaired? How long did the shiner take to fade?”

Danny laughed. “You expect me to believe you’re Al the spaceman? What, you’re in Mike’s body now?”

“I can be anybody,” Sam said plainly. “Anyone you meet. And I’ll always be here to foil your little plots, Danny.”

Danny’s bravado faltered slightly, but he wasn’t convinced.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, shaking his head. “This place has really screwed you up, Mikey.”

“This is a cute plan,” Al piped up, “but I’m not sure it’s gonna work, Sam…”

“I can be anybody,” Richie chimed in, apparently catching on to what Sam had been planning better than Al had.

“Anybody,” added Bobby.

“Anybody,” said Marsha.

“Anybody you meet,” said Alicia, grinning.

“Anybody!” the twin children said in unison.

“Anyone at all,” Brenda said.

This team effort succeeded in throwing Danny for a loop, and he looked around at the faces around him, visibly uncomfortable.

And then Al witnessed something that he hadn’t seen before. For a split second, the Imaging Chamber hologram winked out around him before resolving again.

To Al’s complete surprise, Sam was no longer standing in front of Danny—it was Mike, looking slightly perplexed.

“Sam?” Al said, spinning around in confusion. He’d leaped out of Mike, but how was Al seeing this scene without Sam there?

And then he stopped dead as he saw that Sam was now standing just to the side, wearing the Sheriff’s uniform. He looked down at himself, then met Al’s eye with surprise, before his lips curled into a sly grin, and he grabbed Danny’s shoulder.

“And I mean anybody,” he said, spinning the deputy around and snatching the baggies of drugs from his hand. “Even your father.”

Danny’s jaw dropped. “No…”

“Wow, Sam,” Al said, laughing. “Talk about ‘The Flow,’ huh?”

Sam leaned in to Danny’s ear. “You’re gonna leave Richie and this place alone from now on, aren’t you… son?”

“Y-yes, sir…” Danny said with a gulp. “…Touché, Al. Touché.”

Sam turned, holding out the bags of drugs to one of the other officers behind him. “Here, take this. We need to write up the Deputy Sheriff here for planting evidence. Better cuff him, too.”

The bewildered, wide-eyed officer nodded, taking the bags. “Yes, Sheriff.”

Another officer placed handcuffs on Danny, and escorted him away, as he watched Sam through narrow eyes.

Sam turned to Marsha, smiling. “I think this is goodbye,” he said, taking her hand.

Marsha nodded. “You saved us again, Al. Thank you. I’ll never forget you.”

In front of everyone, Marsha drew the man that all present—except Al and the children—saw as the sixty-year-old Sheriff Kaufman into a passionate kiss.

When she was done, she pulled away and Al was taken aback to see Richie be the next person to plant a kiss on Sam’s lips.

And then, blushing profusely, Sam leaped.

THE END

The End

I hope you enjoyed this work. It was a lot of fun to write!

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